


A Wide World, A Soft Tune

by Solrosfalt



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Biromantic Protagonist, During Canon, Excavation, F/F, Fluff, Found family themes, Hurt/Comfort (mostly comfort), M/M, Medium Burn, Post-Canon, Queerplatonic Relationships, Religious Themes, Rituals, Self-Discovery, Slight Body Horror (it's Galdera), Spoilers for Octopath Traveler True Ending, Spoilers for all Traveler Stories, asexual protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solrosfalt/pseuds/Solrosfalt
Summary: The eighth woman in the group was a priestess with a serene smile and shining white garb, dotted by Cliftlands dust. She looked like she would be more at home behind stained glass windows, and Cordelia could not figure out why she would walk the same road as a thief. A thief like Therion, but still.“I’m Ophilia Clement,” the cleric said, with a smile that was patient and polite. “Thank you for having us.”______________________________________The eight travelers have all finished what they set out on their journeys to do, and they offer Cordelia Ravus respite from her mansion when they offer to bring her along with them. And as it turns out, perhaps the epitome of all their travels have yet to begin…
Relationships: Alfyn Greengrass/Therion, Cordelia Ravus & Therion, Cordelia Ravus/Ophilia Clement, Olberic Eisenberg & Cyrus Albright (queerplatonic relationship), Primrose Azelhart/H'aanit, Tressa Colzione/Noa Wyndham
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42
Collections: Octopath Femslash Week 2020





	1. Ravus Manor

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a one-shot, how did i get here? i thought about phili and cordy both being ace and liking each other and then also about cordelia's role in the overarching story and her and therion being unlikely friends and then i just had to tie it all together... and now it's 40k?
> 
> this is extremely self-indulgent, anyway, i loved writing it so hopefully someone will like reading it <3

When Cordelia Ravus was seven years old, her parents’ horse carriage plummeted down a precipice.

This was not an all too uncommon occasion in the Cliftlands, where the roads winded over steep red mountains and turbulent winds swirled like unpredictable demons, where loose gravel could betray at any step. But of course it didn’t matter to Cordelia whether such a thing was _common_ or not—her parents were swept away like road dust and nothing would ever be the same. The Ravus family was shattered, and Cordelia, barely old enough to understand the concept of politics, stood at the center of a shift of power in the Cliftlands.

The Ravuses were proud bearers of an ancient legacy. For centuries, they had been the mightiest and most important nobles of the Cliftlands. Revered. Beloved. Untouchable. In theory, anyway. Cordelia did not feel any of those things as she lay crying alone on the soft carpets of her home. She did not feel any of those things when her friends, other noble Cliftlands kids—who had giggled and gossiped about the fun and ever-changing colors on Madam Lerver’s parasol with her—were held back by their parents, parents who told them that Cordelia was not worth their time as she would soon fall from grace, and in turn, even the children grew cold.

Promises and alliances meant nothing. The health and life of one grieving girl left behind meant even less.

Servants packed their bags and left for greener pastures, as was their right, but none of them so much as looked at Cordelia, and she felt dropped like a piece of moldy bread.

But Heathcote did not leave. Even though there was no honor in being a butler in an empty manor, he stayed. He stayed for Cordelia, even as she yelled at the sky and stomped her feet over the unfairness, and he hugged her shoulder when her tears overwhelmed her. He stood by her side as the noble matron of Orewell walked into the Ravus mansion and demanded payment for an old debt Cordelia could not find in any of her mother’s papers.

“She is wrong, my lady,” Heathcote told her after the matron had left with unkind words and a bag of coins—too few of them for her taste. “You _will_ become a fine lady one day. You _do_ belong here.”

Cordelia was not sure. The words of one lady did not matter alone, but added to everything else… That sort of thing left wounds, and those wounds would turn into scars. Maybe she did not belong. But Heathcote believed in her, and that was all she had to rely on.

She tried to defend herself. She tried to wipe the tears off her face and make sense of her father’s old documents, of her mother’s old budgets, even though she had only just learned how to read. She tried to dress herself on her own and not scream in frustration as her fingers got stuck in the fine ribbons and ties of her gown.

But within the first messy months, there was no way to stay in control. There were not enough guards for such a big house, and Cordelia lost some of her family’s possessions. Surprisingly few, an outsider would argue, but whoever had broken into her home had had something very specific in mind.

In the southern hall (because what home did not have four separate “halls”?), upon pillars of marble and pillows of satin, four jewelled stones had been displayed for centuries. At least according to her late father, who also claimed that those _Dragonstones_ were the single most important treasures in the entire world. He had never specified why, but Cordelia remembered them as beautiful, and most certainly magical. Their sheen was eternal, even beneath the runes drawn in gold, like a light behind ice.

And one fateful morning, one of the few patrolling guards were found out cold on the floor, almost done in by poison, the door to the southern hall askew.

Cordelia’s chest was cold when she walked inside and saw nothing but empty display pillows.

Losing the Dragonstones was like losing her family all over again, but even worse. It was like having said family, generations back, screaming at her over her unfathomable failure. Out of all their treasures, she had managed to lose the most important.

Heathcote turned on his heel that day, but not to leave her. He returned the same evening with a cut over his face and the Sapphire Dragonstone in his hands. There was a wistful smile on his face as he reached the stone over to Cordelia.

“I loved your father like no other,” Heathcote said, dabbing at his cut with the handkerchief Cordelia had (half-terrified) offered him. “Know that there are no lengths I will not go for the sake of his daughter’s safety and happiness.”

Cordelia, still horrified by the sight of blood and injury around her (first the guard, now _Heathcote_ ), only hugged the jewelled stone in her arms.

“They are just things,” she said, although her voice was thick with gratitude she could not hide.

To that, Heathcote had smiled wider, even with a dark twinkle in his eye. “I do not believe so, my lady. Your father has told his servants, me included, many times of the Dragonstone’s danger. They have the power to put many minds askew, lest those minds belong to a Ravus heir. Whatever their magic is, it is not to be trifled with. Fortunately, that makes their trail all the easier to track.”

There was an offer in his words, and as much as Cordelia wanted to, going on the offensive was not an option when she had so much to defend. She could not fathom losing Heathcote, too. It was a tough decision for a grief-ridden child to make, but a right one nonetheless.

The Dragonstones faded into the background of Cordelia’s life. She deflected the accusations that rained with attempts to tear her name down, and grew from a seven-year-old attempting to play the role of a lady into the genuine article.

She was kind and polite, even to those who would use such things for their gain. She would travel to Grandport once or twice a year to meet with powerful Coastland nobles (and their children, which was a fun change of pace), but most of her time she spent reading books well into the night, some for work and some for fun. Her mind absorbed facts and the emptiness grew less lonely. 

Twelve years later, her reputation was restored among the general public in the Cliftlands. To anyone who did not know her history, Cordelia Ravus looked like any other noble, with satin dresses and authentic pearls adorning her hair. But as Cordelia traced the polished stone of her windowsills, her scars reminded her that she would never truly belong. Her eyes followed the stars above and she prayed silently to Steorra for the strength to keep going.

And like a divine sign, the stars reminded her of the sheen of the Dragonstones, and that was when she decided it was time.

She was a child no longer. The Dragonstones needed to return to their place, and maybe the final pieces of her past would click in place. She would belong. She would find a true home.

She was still not ready to sacrifice Heathcote for the task, and going on her own was no option. Heathcote’s solution was a bit too cruel for her taste, but she found no other option, and began to formulate her plan. She hired more security than was ever necessary, installed traps and had Heathcote spread rumors into the dark of night. Rumors of an unattainable treasure deep within the Ravus mansion, worth more than the entire city of Bolderfall.

Bait, meant to ensnare a thief into her employ. Only the best would succeed.

When time passed without any thief even coming close, Cordelia started to think she had set the stage too difficult, that only Aeber with his divine skills would be able to overcome her challenge—but one summer’s noon, in broad daylight, someone did crack her code.

His name was Therion. All confidence and cleverness, and no lack of courage, either. Even when Heathcote had him apprehended, bright green eyes glared at Cordelia when she told him of the terms. The fool’s bangle was chained to his wrist, and he would not be rid of the embarrassing mark before he had brought her the last three Dragonstones.

He had no other choice. She was not giving him one, and it hurt. So she had asked Heathcote to put the bangle on loosely, so that once Therion figured out it hadn’t been locked in place, he could leave. It was foolish of her, but she could not look a fellow human in the eye and blackmail them. She was not like the nobles of her childhood.

Therion left, a lone wolf beneath the open sun, and a long time passed before she saw him again.

Her nineteenth birthday closed in on her. Her steps would keep ringing on the tiled floors. She barely left her home at all, as it was safer for her not to. The only thing that crossed her threshold was her letters to Grandport and the occasional Therion, although that man never _technically_ crossed the threshold; he used the window out of spite.

Spite for her. Spite for everything she was.

He never met her gaze, not even when he handed her the ruby Dragonstone, only giving her a dry remark or two. Heathcote told her that Therion clearly did not hate her, malevolence was just how thieves defended themselves from the outside world. If you hate everything, there is nothing left to hurt you. A logical fallacy to Cordelia, who had just as much right to spite the world, yet she still _wanted_ to give chances, wanted to listen to the birds, see the smiles on children’s faces, read her books... maybe even find a place where she was welcome. Thanks to Heathcote, she knew she could trust other people, and that there was good in the world.

But perhaps Therion and his kin had a right to spite her. She had fought half her life to keep what was allegedly hers, but truly, why was it _hers_ to begin with? Such thoughts may not be the most common among the nobles, but Cordelia had lived with being considered not a part of them for long enough to question just how strange their concepts of ownership were. What need did she have of sixty-five silk pillows, golden framed paintings and an entire library to herself?

_What right do I have to so much, when they have so little?_ Cordelia wrote in her letters to Grandport, and her friend Noa answered truly.

_We do not have that right_ , Noa wrote _. My father gives away millions each year, but it is but a fraction of our riches… So much of it is simply sitting there as savings for a future I do not see the need for. I do not want weekly jewels and daily new dresses for me and my children and grandchildren… not when a ship of my own would suffice to grant me eternal happiness. If only I was well enough to travel upon it and beyond. Then perhaps freedom I long for will finally be true._

Cordelia had folded that letter and kept it with the rest of her collection. Noa was one of the children of Coastland nobility, and she had been Cordelia’s friend for nearly seven years.

Cordelia wrote to her almost every day and sent the letters in batches every week—stories, thoughts, reflections, diary entries, and Noa kept telling her that she was a ‘ _good writer_ ’. That had not been Cordelia’s intention. She only wanted to step back and look at the words on a page, set herself aside and observe what could have been, and what was. And that she got to talk to a friend her age was the best about it, no doubt.

When they were sixteen, they had attempted to be girlfriends in a romantic sense. Cordelia had used to visit Noa more often back then, but that whole thing had been brief. Cordelia did not like to think about the implications of kisses and touch, because Noa always seemed to be _waiting_ for something Cordelia had no idea how to give. Romance was more than that, Cordelia had realized, but what she felt for Noa was not of the romantic sort. Nothing sparked between them, despite them being two lonely noble girls searching for a connection, and so they had given up going down that road and returned to the familiar, blossoming friendship.

Cordelia had visited her just a few months ago—although something had been different, then. Noa’s cheeks had blushed with excitement and her eyes had lingered with a grinning brown-haired merchant Cordelia was sure she had seen around Bolderfall.

By Aelfric’s Flame, Cordelia was so happy for Noa’s sake, but her scars hurt worse when she got home. She longed for the same, for her heart to find a bond, but instead she returned to a lonely mansion, her two missing family heirlooms like gaping holes on their display pillows.

She would do anything to restore them and find her place. Find a place to call home and people to call family. Sometimes—or most of the time, really—she felt like her noble status was more in the way that it helped her on that end. She was isolated from the world by her mountain of riches.

Cordelia was used to making decisions. What may look like impulse was actually days, weeks, maybe _months_ of contemplation finally finding its aim. And now she thought to herself that if only the jewelled Dragonstones were returned to her, she would give the rest away. The entire Ravus fortune did not mean more than the lives it could improve, and she wanted to get out of it.

Her father would have said ‘ _a noble must be honorable, and if not us honorable ones hold wealth, the greedy ones will’._ She was not sure about that logic, but the memory of him was what caused her to hesitate. Would it be right to yield what she had fought so hard to protect? What had been her family’s duty to covet since the dawn of their legacy?

She hoped the answers would come once the Dragonstones returned. Then her family would be whole again, or as whole as it could be.

Or perhaps it would leave her just as empty, but she kept that fear buried deep inside.

\---

The day he returned victorious to her, Therion did not come alone. Last time he had come through the window empty-handed and sour like a wet kitten, but now he knocked on the door with a little smile on his face and a whole team of people at his back. Seven people, and an… animal? A snow leopard stroked back and forth around a huntress, dressed in traditional S’warkii garb.

It was certainly strange. Did Therion not say he always worked alone?

Then she spotted the two missing Dragonstones gleaming in his arms, and she no longer questioned any of what she saw.

“You did it,” she said, and while Therion did not look _proud_ exactly, he did at least not look prickly.

“He had help though, obviously,” one among his company added with her hands on her hips and her chin lifted—that was _Tressa Colzione_ , Cordelia realized. Noa’s merchant girlfriend. What a small world, but Cordelia supposed it made sense for a merchant to be on the road, and her being friends with Therion would explain why Cordelia had caught glimpses of her in Bolderfall.

Therion glared at Tressa. “Don’t make me regret bringing you.”

“Be nice,” a large man with a scruffy beard on his chin chuckled and patted Therion on the shoulder, before he smiled innocently at Cordelia. “Hi there, miss Ravus.”

A simple ‘ _hi there_ ’ was not correct conduct toward a noble, but Cordelia had never been big on protocol. She gave him a stunned nod.

“These are…” Therion glanced over his shoulder, deep in thought for a few seconds, before he turned back to Cordelia. “…my partners in crime, I guess.”

One of the men in the back of the group let out a little grunt—he was dressed like a mercenary, in worn leather armor and a blue cloak ( _blue_ , and thus expensive). “I suppose I did kick down a door or two.”

A woman standing beside the mercenary put her hand on her hip and smiled deviously. She was dressed in a dancer’s garb beneath her warm cloak.

“We all did our shares, and for once, Therion is nice enough to give credit where credit is due.” The dancer’s smile was magnetic as she gave an elegant courtesy. “I shan’t be rude about it. Good day to you, miss Ravus.”

Cordelia forgot to courtesy back. Therion narrowed his eyes. He looked like he _did_ regret bringing them, but he did not say anything more than “ _here are your precious rocks, or whatever_ ” as he hoisted the Dragonstones into Cordelia’s arms.

And just like that, her almost life-long aspiration had come true. They were returned to her. He had _done_ it—and the fool’s bangle was gone from his wrist. He had noticed it was not truly locked, and still, he had done this for her. This did not seem to be the same man that had been foiled by her trap a year ago. Were these people to thank for it?

The thought reminded her that she had only stood in stunned silence and hugged the Dragonstones, forgetting to speak.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, looking Therion right in the eye, but then let her gaze travel over the rest of the band. “All… all of you. Thank you, for helping a stranger such as myself.”

“A friend of a friend is no stranger,” Tressa smiled wide. “Goes double for me—I’m Tressa, by the way. Noa’s girlfriend.”

A smile played on Cordelia’s lips at the joy in Tressa’s voice. “I thought I recognized you. It is my pleasure to greet you. And you?”

Her gaze settled on whoever was next to Tressa, a man in his thirties in a scholar’s robe.

“Professor Cyrus Albright, miss,” he answered. He had a Flatlands accent, just like the dancer. “Honored to keep company with these fine people, and more pleased yet to finally meet you. Therion speaks well of you.”

Therion glared at the professor. “Surely introductions aren’t necessary,” he mumbled into his scarf. “We’re just dropping by, is all.”

“Would you not like to come inside?” Cordelia blurted out. She would feel strange if this was their goodbye. She should not think of Therion as her friend, it was foolish, but she still would not want him to just… disappear without her thanking him properly. And it felt rude not to make an effort to greet friends of his, strange and varied as they seemed.

The scruffy man in a green cloak beside Therion thanked her politely for the offer, and it looked like Therion yielded after that, too, and let the proceedings continue as they entered the hall.

The man introduced himself as Alfyn, his smile so wide like he would welcome the entire world into his arms. He had an apothecary’s satchel, so it made sense to see someone like him be out on the road.

Same went for dancer—Cordelia expected most people of that trade to go from tavern to tavern, or if they were successful enough, join a troupe—but this dancer was clearly something else, too. She had a certain bearing, her chin high and shoulders proud, like the teachings of noble etiquette expected. She introduced herself as Primrose Azelhart, and the deep darkness in her gaze had Cordelia bite her tongue. There was no point in stating that there was no one left alive of the Azelhart line.

The huntress followed the dancer with a polite nod toward her, and followed up with a hand on the snow leopard’s head.

“Wouldst thou allow for my Linde to stay?” she asked, in a melodic Woodlands accent. “’Tis fine if thou say no. She will cause no trouble.”

Cordelia had read books all her life, and while she had never been to the Woodlands (even though it was just a few day’s trip to the north—it had been where her parents were headed when they died and she didn’t want to relive any of that), she knew of their culture. Those who were born in the villages deep in the evergreen thickness often grew to be excellent hunters and gatherers, and the most skilled could find a symbiotic sort of bond even with wild beasts.

So she believed this huntress when she said her snow leopard would be no trouble, and nodded. She could feel Heathcote’s eyes on her, doubting her decision, but Cordelia felt oddly safe watching the giant cat thud its head against the cold stones of the fireplace and lay down on a rug.

It was certainly odd, but not something too out of the ordinary on the road, Cordelia was sure.

A merchant and a mercenary (who was named Olberic, which this one pointed out with brevity) and a scholar were also expected, but one stood out from the rest.

The eighth woman in the group was a priestess around twenty, with a serene smile and shining white garb, dotted by Cliftlands dust. She looked like she would be more at home behind stained glass windows, and Cordelia could not figure out why she would walk the same road as a thief. A thief like _Therion_ , but still.

“I’m Ophilia Clement,” the cleric told her, with a smile that was patient and polite. “Thank you for having us.”

Cordelia tried her best to reflect her smile. The cleric’s hair matched her own, straight and pale, but Ophilia kept hers long, and it had become a bit messy in the turbulence the path to Bolderfall always presented. Her eyes were a gentle brown, but Cordelia still felt like she lay bare before it—a reminder of how the gods were looking down at them, and they might not be as gentle. Not for the first time, Cordelia felt embarrassed about her overabundance of riches.

“Please feel at home,” Cordelia told her. “Excuse me, however. I will just be a moment.”

Cordelia moved toward the door to the southern hall, and in the corner she could see Heathcote throw sideways glances at their guests. Heathcote was fond of Therion, Cordelia knew he was, but Cordelia’s decision to bring in his seven friends (and a _very_ large cat) without proper notice was clearly pushing his patience.

“Wipe your feet,” Heathcote finally snapped at the apothecary, as the man was about to step onto a priceless carpet with muddy boots.

Therion held the door open to Cordelia in one nimble and determined movement, adding a casual nod to show that he was not _really_ that happy for her or cared that much—and maybe he did not. It could be a hint at Heathcote to lay off his friends, like he asked, ‘ _are you really okay with not watching me?’_

Heathcote’s place was with Cordelia, and he cared about the Dragonstones’ restoration as much as she did. She wanted him there, and one pleading gaze was enough. He came over to her, his face softened at the sight of her with the stones in her arms.

Therion hovered in the doorway. He stayed when Cordelia placed the Dragonstones onto their displays and brushed her thumb over their ancient runes. He might have cared a little bit, after all.

The stones sparked with color, like captured stars in their jewelled cores, and Cordelia could only bend her head and wipe her tears. This sight was that of her childhood. They were the image of completion, of the Ravus name, and she could almost feel her father smile down upon her from the life after—

“Hey _woaaah_ , this is a landscape painting from overseas?” Tressa’s voice cut through from the main hall. “That’s worth a _fortune_! Diamond inlay frames, too! Exquisite! And—oh hey, look, Cyrus, what kind of creature is this?”

“It appears to be a unification of all thirteen symbols of the gods,” the scholar answered. “Quite rare to allow imagery of The Fallen, is it not?”

“Huh, I just thought it looked like a Demon Deer, but alright. That just upped the estimated value, a bit of heathen stuff is good in moderate amounts, right Ophilia?”

“No,” the priestess answered gently. “I’d argue that it is not.”

“Well, either way—look at _that_! This carpet braiding technique is so fancy, it has to be a whole townsworth—"

“How much to buy your godsdamned _silence_?” Therion shouted out into the hall, and Cordelia turned her face to look at the spectacle.

“Seven billion,” Tressa answered immediately, in the same breath as Cyrus brushed his chin with a smug smile and a ‘ _you couldn’t POSSIBLY afford it_ ’.

Cordelia could not help a smile. She did not know these people, not even Therion, but she didn’t mind that. She liked their presence, and liked observing them the same way she had silently observed other people her entire life—they were so _different_. New. Friends of someone who had preached complete independence.

Most of all, they seemed… _free_. They looked like they _belonged_ , as strange and diverse that notion was. Maybe Cordelia envied them.

That realization came almost as a surprise. With her heirlooms safe, all her plans were no longer just vague ideas—should she put them to fruition? Would she be strong enough to separate with all the things that Tressa now listed as invaluable, and leave the familiar in search of her own belonging?

She would stay in this manor and try to figure it out, but that was a lonely thought. So when Alfyn mentioned the inn, Cordelia carefully stepped into the doorway leading into the main hall.

“How about you all stay here? There’s more than enough room, and Heathcote makes delicious breakfast.”

Heathcote stiffened a little, then bowed, quick on the uptake as always. “I make it as delicious as my lady desires. Any food allergies amongst our esteemed guests?”

“Eggs,” the priestess said with a raised arm, to which Alfyn nodded solemnly.

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to not make it life-threatening, but it’ll still be uncomfortable, so I wouldn’t recommend exposure.”

“A lifetime without eggs,” Tressa mused. “Haven’t thought about it that way before, but it’s no wonder you’re so scrawny, Ophilia!”

Ophilia only smiled and shook her head, while Heathcote noted this in his tiny notebook, then slapped it shut.

“The morning meal will be served at eight ‘o clock sharp,” he said. “Do not disgrace my lady’s hospitality. Dress appropriately, and be neither late nor early.”

“Thank you,” Primrose smiled at him, which seemed intended to soften him (without much success). “You’re too kind.”

Cordelia chuckled nervously. “It’s all right, Heathcote. Come, everyone, let me show you around.”

\---

Cordelia did not manage to offer them all a room each, but that was not a problem. The huntress—H’aanit, Cordelia had learned—and Primrose insisted to share a room, and Therion said he preferred to have Alfyn with him.

“He’s always up in my face anyway”, Therion muttered with flushed cheeks and a shrug. “Might as well be nice about it.”

“Oh _sure_ ,” Alfyn grinned, and it was evident that this was some kind of shared joke between them.

Olberic adjusted his collar and told her that he would share his space with Cyrus who tended to forget the time at late hours and fall asleep over his books. Someone needed to make sure he did not miss breakfast now that they had such a strict schedule to keep, Olberic argued, and Cyrus did not object.

Tressa, however, was happy with a room of her own. She fell down on the feathered pillows and stretched her back.

“So much spaaace,” she said dreamily, and she looked just about ready to fall asleep on the spot, so Cordelia left her as she was.

Only Ophilia remained. She would be granted a room with a balcony overlooking the vast uninhabited cliffs, and Cordelia still felt strangely self-conscious about everything whenever Ophilia’s eyes looked into hers.

After all, what did a priestess care for? Did they see all these riches and condemn Cordelia for it, rather than enjoy the view and soft blankets? The guilt that always stayed at the base of her chest felt all the more palpable. _What right do I have to hoard all this?_

“I hope it is to your satisfaction,” Cordelia found herself saying, and Ophilia turned her face toward her with a gentle smile. That seemed to be her standard face, but it felt no less genuine.

“It absolutely is. I would not like to bother you, but if it is time for my evening prayer. Would you show me to Bolderfall’s chapel? I could not find it on my own.”

Cordelia withheld the urge to twist uncomfortably. “None exist, I’m afraid. There used to be one in Lower Bolderfall, but it was remade into an orphanage—I do not know if they kept the shrine within.”

Ophilia’s gentle smile died down slightly. “Oh. I see. It’s fine, I—”

“I have a shrine here, though,” Cordelia added hastily. “It is on the bottom floor. It is where I go to pray. Will that do?”

“Absolutely.” Ophilia smiled again. “Thank you. Aelfric’s grace is found within forests and fields and simple rooms as well, but I like the presence of his imagery.”

“I shall happily show you,” Cordelia said, glad to provide something that did not make her gut twist.

She had not lied about her prayers—although she might not use the shrine as much as she sometimes felt like she wanted. Cordelia was a believer, even though many people in Bolderfall were not. The popularity of each individual god in the pantheon varied with the region, but Aelfric was the leader of the gods and the church was dedicated to him alone. He was gentle and a guiding light in the darkness—to Cordelia, it just wouldn’t make sense for her _not_ to have her faith within Aelfric’s flame, even though she sometimes looked toward Steorra and Sealticge for guidance in other areas. No matter which god, she liked the feeling of disconnect from her problems she got while she dedicated her heart and mind to prayer.

So it just felt natural to ask.

“Can I pray with you?”

Ophilia looked perfectly at home before the image of the Flame, and she nodded. “Of course, but when I hold sermon I speak my prayers aloud—would that disturb you?”

“No,” Cordelia answered. “I am used to the silence and my own thoughts, I would truly appreciate a voice to carry my prayers along.”

“All right, then,” Ophilia said, then bent her head to the Flame and clasped her hands with the fingers of her right hand beneath her left thumb, and rested them against the center of her chest. Cordelia mirrored her.

“O Aelfric, Bringer of the Flame,” Ophilia began, her voice melodic and soothing. “I hold within my heart gratitude for your guarding grace after yet another day. I will work for the wisdom to learn from my mistakes and mend the pains of myself and others when tomorrow comes. I will accept what I cannot change, and fight for what I can and what is just. I will pluck out the roots of bitterness before they grow. I will face the darkness of night, safe knowing that your light always shines within us all.”

Cordelia nodded, feeling tears sting her eyes before they trickled down her cheeks. Just two of them, but when Ophilia lifted her head to look at her, she noticed.

“Oh,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Cordelia answered honestly. “I have not been to many sermons in my life, and this reminded me that I miss them. That was beautiful prayer. I will keep your words in my mind henceforth. I hope my heart is worthy to carry them.”

Ophilia unclasped her hands with a gentle nod.

“There is no such thing as unworthy,” she said. “At least, not for those who try to be good. Not even the gods are above greed and violence and hate, but the twelve that did not yield to it are what we must strive for to adhere to.”

Ophilia paused, then cleared her throat and chuckled slightly. “I hope such words were not unwanted. I forget myself sometimes, especially in the light of a shrine. I’ve annoyed my friends a little with my unintentional preaches.”

“Your friends seem annoying in their own ways,” Cordelia said without thinking better of it, but to her surprise, Ophilia laughed outright.

“I love them, but it is true. Thank you, miss Ravus, for housing us here. It was truly kind of you.”

None of them moved out of the flickering candlelight.

“Of course,” Cordelia answered. “It was the least I could do. Therion has been a great help, and…” _And I longed for the company._ She did not say the latter, merely scratched herself behind her ear in an attempt to look casual and comfortable. “If you do not mind me asking—how did you end up traveling with these people? I thought the faithful stayed in their churches and chapels and rarely left their town.”

“There is some truth to that,” Ophilia admitted, while pulling off her gloves. “I grew up in Flamesgrace, daughter to the Archbishop Josef. I did not think I would leave, as my sister was destined to. But once our father took ill, I stole the flame and begun the Kindling in her place.”

Cordelia did not know what to say to that. Perhaps Ophilia was more similar to Therion than appearances would make it seem.

“You performed the Kindling?” Cordelia finally stumbled. “That is… incredible! I did not know it was time—”

She quieted, embarrassed to admit to her limited knowledge of the outside world. The Kindling was a big ceremony, a sacred pilgrimage made by a chosen cleric to revitalize Aelfric’s flame around the continent—and Cordelia had not heard.

Ophilia merely folded her gloves with a small smile.

“The Kindling never passes through the Cliftlands, so I do not judge you,” she said, as though reading Cordelia’s mind. “But yes, it was time… and I could tell my sister would break if she left our father in the state he was in, so I did it. I walked the Flame to all great churches, and had it not been for my friends, I do not think I would have lived through the journey. I stay with them now to repay that, and to continue to do good in Aelfric’s name.”

“I never would have guessed,” Cordelia admitted.

“Tricky thing to guess,” Ophilia said with a gleam in her eye, but there was sorrow in there too. Cordelia sat down on the bench along the wall of the shrine, and Ophilia did the same.

“How… Is your father still ill?”

Ophilia shook her head. “He passed on. I was just able to complete the Kindling and tell him that final farewell.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. It is the way life goes in the end, and he did not fear it. He said he was certain that the life after was full of winter blooms. I believe he’s there among those blooms, now. Maybe my biological parents are showing him the way.”

How she could sound so sad and yet so at peace at the same time, Cordelia did not understand. She herself had thrown a fit, cried and begged at the stars to give her parents back—then again, she had been seven years old.

“Everyone has sorrows,” Ophilia continued, as though she was reading Cordelia’s mind. “Which is why I believe all should be treated with compassion first and foremost.”

Cordelia had thought the same for so long, and sometimes even Heathcote had implied the foolishness of her kindness. For never driving similar campaigns to the nobles that tried to drag her through the dirt, for not locking the Fool’s bangle properly… Even Noa would sometimes question her. It was just… nice to hear that she was not alone.

“I’m of the same mind,” Cordelia said.

Ophilia relaxed her head against the wall, peaceful as a painting (and pretty as one, too).

“That’s nice—Therion and Primrose keep telling me I’m wrong,” she chuckled. “And the others say it depends.”

“Even Alfyn?” Cordelia asked. “He is an apothecary. It _shouldn’t_ depend.”

“Alfyn’s lovely,” Ophilia said. “But he’s killed a man. As have most of us. Not Tressa, thankfully, and we try to keep her shoulders free of that burden.”

Cordelia stiffened a little. She did not dare ask anything else. She had figured the Dragonstones would not be returned without cost—but if Therion had killed in her name, was the blame not on her?

“Even I have,” Ophilia confessed. “I think you should know that.”

If Heathcote had been there, he would have thrown them all out on the spot. _She could not just open her home to a bunch of murderers_. Maybe this was what she got for trusting so readily… But she could not see how it made sense with what Ophilia had said before.

“What about treating everyone with compassion?” Cordelia asked carefully.

“Compassion takes many forms,” Ophilia said, her gaze on the shrine. “Say you need to defend yourself from those who would cause you harm. Is it compassion to assume that they’ve suffered, and therefore you should not put up a fight? Allow terrible practices to continue without doing anything about it? No. I’ve encountered truly terrible people throughout my journey, and while I know there are not many who are evil for the sake of it, they still need to be stopped. But that does not exclude compassion for those terrible people. Many had yielded to the idea that they are the only ones worthy—of life, of pleasure, of riches, of knowledge—because they could not see another alternative. I could understand them, and try to reach out to them, but if that wasn’t possible in the end… The answer was not letting them kill me.”

Cordelia felt breathless. “So, you… and… Therion, too?”

“I feel like it is not my place to tell the stories of my friends,” Ophilia answered. “But yes, I had no choice but to strike down a man who was the driving force for a ritual that was draining the life out of an entire village of innocent people. It pains me that I could not understand him and perhaps end it another way, but he made it clear that he wouldn’t stop. I think he was hurt and groomed into not caring for the life of others, but it is still sad. I didn’t hate him.”

She paused for a moment, a frown darkening her face.

“But I do know hatred,” she continued. “It happened in Saintsbridge, one of my stops for the Kindling. Alfyn rushed in to set things to rights after he’d saved the life of a man who went on taking a child hostage. As soon as the man was well enough to stand, he took a boy from Saintsbridge that I had met before I performed the ritual… I’d helped him, he was such a sweet boy, but Alfyn’s patient stabbed little Tim in the lung to shut him up. I… understand that the man was a seasoned murderer, that perhaps he had no concern for another, but I… I was the one to patch Alfyn and Tim together afterwards, and it was difficult to hold compassion for the lying murderer even in his death… Truthfully, I hated him and was glad he was gone. Yet I still… tried to understand.”

Cordelia had never been in any situation that even resembled any of those mentioned. She was not sure she could stay strong enough in her convictions if she had to face kidnappers and rituals.

“So… did it even matter, to try?”

“I think so,” Ophilia answered, and Cordelia was continuously surprised at her honesty. They were strangers, but in this shrine, as though they were both it line to the confession stand, it did not feel that way.

“Many of those we crossed as enemies, we actually met again later, and they were trying to turn over a new leaf. Seeing that, I feel like I understand so much more about what makes us human. We’re able to learn. To grow, to change. And in _trying_ to understand them, I grow too. Say I meet a man of horrible greed—like one Tressa had to face in Quarrycrest—as soon as things calm down, I must think of how he could have become such a man. Otherwise, I will not have learned how to spot it the next time, to defend myself if I face another man like him, or how to stop it from happening to anyone else.“

“That makes more sense,” Cordelia said with a trembling smile. “Thank you, priestess.”

“Call me Ophilia, please. Only Olberic insists on calling me _priestess_ at this point, even though it’s been more than a year that we’ve travelled together.”

This was a segue into a lighter topic, and Cordelia was grateful for it.

“A whole year,” Cordelia mused. “I cannot believe it has been that long since Therion first broke into my home.”

“Right,” Ophilia smiled, seemingly relieved too. “It took him a while to tell us that story, but once he did, I thought it was very clever of you to set such a trap.”

“It was mostly Heathcote’s idea, really. I only did the planning, and I nearly messed it up because I felt bad about ensnaring someone like that. But even with the option not to fulfil our bargain, Therion came back. He… chose to.”

“That’s true,” Ophilia said, closing her eyes and exhaling a small laugh. “Although when Therion took the bangle off, Primrose immediately grabbed him by the neck and gave him a stern talking to. I think she expected of him to run… while I did not believe so. He would have gone to Northreach regardless.”

_Northreach_. Cordelia remembered Therion mentioning that place, but what had transpired there was as much of a mystery to her as the happenings of the stars during daylight. She might be better off not knowing, but she was curious. She hoped she would one day be able to ask him.

“I think so too,” she whispered to herself. “I was lucky to capture such an honorable thief.”

“You speak well of him,” Ophilia said, amused. “Is that fondness, perhaps?”

Cordelia considered this in a moment of confusion. She was not sure what that question really insinuated—or how honest she dared to be.

“It may be silly of me, but I do think of him as my friend… and I like him fine.”

She glanced at Ophilia, wondering if _she_ held any sort of romantic notions for him—everything about these people was a shot in the dark, but she did not feel insecure or afraid. Ophilia merely looked back at her, seemingly genuinely curious.

“It was a bit too forward of me to ask,” Ophilia apologized. “I’ve picked up a few things from Primrose, I think. For better and for worse.”

“I do not mind,” Cordelia said, and it was the truth. Apart from Noa, she almost never had a heart to heart with anyone her age, and weird as it was, she felt like she could confide in Ophilia. “I have noticed that my idea of fondness is a bit different from what most others experience.”

Cordelia spotted a quick glint of recognition in Ophelia’s eyes, though she remained silence.

Cordelia leaned her head in her hand, smiling to herself. “I like my way to be fond of people, though. And when I saw Therion, I think I was… a bit enchanted at first, but that interest died pretty quickly. Therion is nice but also a bit like… a human cactus.”

The stillness interrupted by Ophilia snorting a laugh, which sounded not as poised as one would expect of a priestess.

“A _cactus_ ,” she repeated. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

Cordelia felt a flush on her cheeks. She almost wanted to say that it would not matter if Therion heard her; he would disappear soon. She would likely never see him again, or any of these people. That was just how life went.

She glanced over at Ophilia, who still rested her head against the wall. She looked just as exhausted as Tressa had when she had dug herself down into the pile of pillows—maybe Ophilia was just staying awake to be polite.

Cordelia got to standing. “I will not be keeping you,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I enjoyed our conversation, I forgot how tired you must be.”

“As did I, it seems.” Ophilia’s smile at her was still the same, but there was something in her eye that sparked joy. “Thank you, Cordelia. For your company.”

_Cordelia_. Not ‘ _miss Ravus_ ’. It was odd to be addressed such by someone she had just met, but it also felt right. Cordelia did not always want to be _‘miss Ravus_ ’, especially not now. She got up to snuff out the candles, but she kept her eye on Ophilia as the priestess opened the door. She was still smiling at her.

“I hope you sleep well,” Cordelia bid her goodnight. “And… thank you, for your time. I’m glad to have met you, Ophilia.”

\---

Despite Heathcote’s best attempts, breakfast was delightfully lively the next day. Therion quipped with Cyrus, Alfyn and Olberic practically inhaled their pancakes with lemon icing and raspberry jam, Tressa inspected the silverware with her mouth slightly open in full focus and H’aanit watched her with slight disinterest. Her animal companion happily munched on chicken bones while Primrose scratched its ears.

Ophilia, on the other hand, was quiet over her egg-free breakfast. It was a good kind of quiet, or at least Cordelia hoped so.

“Did you sleep well?” Cordelia greeted them once things calmed down a little, as a good hostess should.

“I slept like a _baby,_ ” Tressa said happily and put the spoon down. “Thank you so much, miss Cordelia! Noa’s said a lot of good stuff about you, and it’s all true!”

Cordelia smiled. “Noa’s said a lot of fine things about you as well, Tressa.”

“Heh, aw,” Tressa chuckled with flushed cheeks.

“I didst sleep fine as well,” H’aanit said politely with her intense grey eyes on Cordelia. “’Tis too bad that Olberic doth snore worse than Linde.”

“I feel sorrier for Cyrus,” Primrose said. “He was right beside it all, and the walls literally shook.”

“It’s the mountain air,” Olberic defended himself after wiping his mouth with a handkerchief and clearing his throat. “It feels like home, and I relax.”

“A bit much of you relaxes, by the sounds of it,” Alfyn said with his mouth full of pancake. “Snoring comes from airways being too slack when you sleep.”

“Fascinating!” Cyrus said, delighted. “I shall have to study that next time—remind me tonight, Olberic.”

“Not sure if I can relax that well if I know you’re watching me,” Olberic said, but gave a polite nod. “Though it cannot hurt to try. We shall share a space tonight as well, then.”

“I call dibs on the room farthest away from all that,” Therion said. “I’d like to not steal sealing wax from Alfyn to prop into my ears again.”

“It’s not stealing when I give it to you,” Alfyn shrugged. “But whatever saves your pride, man.”

Ophilia silently shook her head and looked up on Cordelia, as if to say ‘ _see, this is what I deal with every day_ ’, but she looked amused as well.

Cordelia had laid awake for a long while after her conversation with Ophilia, their words still forming stories in Cordelia’s mind. Like so many other times before, Cordelia got up to her letter-writing desk and tried to shape the words she had heard and make them make sense. She inserted herself and _tried to understand_ , just like Ophilia said she did.

And she thought about what she herself would have done. If a child from Bolderfall was dragged out on the cliffs and threatened, would Cordelia rush in to help? Probably not. She was _just_ Cordelia; she did not know how to fight or stop anything from happening. Would her actions be different if it was her own fault? She would not fare any better in a fight either way, so it should not be…

The words on her page were not enough to answer. The stories she tried to relate to had too many holes in them, and in truth, she was a little bit afraid. Not of the fact that she had let eight strangers into her home, but that there was so much she yet did not understand, that books couldn’t prepare her for. Writing was Cordelia’s way of figuring out the world, but now it did not work. Not with this.

“If it is not too much to ask,” Cordelia said and cleared her throat, meeting Primrose’s gaze opposite her. “Should you wish to share a story from your travels?”

Perhaps that had been a mistake. Primrose’s eyes narrowed, if only slightly. “Me?”

“I—if you’d like, of course. You need not trouble yourself.”

The others exchanged glances—there was something here that they knew that Cordelia evidently did not.

Primrose’s smile had a cold edge to it. “I’d prefer not to. However, Tressa always has some exciting anecdotes to share, do you not?”

“I do,” Tressa chimed in, and the few moments of tension in the air was released. “Uhm, okay, so we met a guy in Quarrycrest, a hoarder and a bully and while _he_ said he’d pack us on a ship and sell us overseas, _I_ said he should really watch his mouth, and _then_ Cyrus knocked his teeth out with his staff!”

Cordelia was too stunned to react (it _was_ funny, she later decided), and Cyrus brushed his forelocks aside uncomfortably. “Not my proudest moment, and not the most appropriate story for our esteemed hostess, Tressa.”

“The guy had it coming,” Therion shrugged. “Just be proud, old man.”

“I don’t see why I would be,” Cyrus objected with a frown. “And I would advise against calling me old; I am merely nine years your senior.”

“Yet you’re old as hell at heart.”

Cordelia noticed how Primrose leaned back while her companions quipped at one another. Primrose was as difficult to read as the nobles who had given Cordelia the cold shoulder, but Cordelia was pretty sure she was pleased with having deflected the original question.

Noted. Cordelia would not unwittingly ask such a thing of her again.

“If one desires a story,” Cyrus interrupted the chatter and cleared his throat with a quick straightening of his collar. “There are plenty that does not involve any staff-bashing… I, for example, will gladly speak about the ruins in Duskbarrow.”

Things quieted, and Cyrus needed no other prompting. “You see, miss Ravus, deep in the Woodlands there is a town few outsiders venture into, where the homes are built with oak trees transported all the way from the south of the Woodlands. The oaks are treated in a special manner and they need to tar their roofs often—their way of producing said tar is deeply fascinating, the _tar kilns_ , where a pit is made in a pile of dirt and limestone and the wood chips are placed in it just so—hold on, Tressa, lend me your spoon, I shall demonstrate—”

“You mentioned the ruins?” Therion asked pointedly, drumming his fingers on his chin.

“Right!” Cyrus said and waved Tressa’s spoon in the air. “The Ruins of Eld! Thank you! Long lost and believed to be legend, now found again! They were apparently hidden deep in the ground in something that looked like one of those tar kilns, very clever… The ruins themselves are a deep underground stair, leading to a secret library, hoarded over the ages… and with a deeply fascinating mural at the heart of it all.”

“I think you mean _creepy_ mural,” Alfyn said. “If someone writes _DEATH_ all over a wall, I wouldn’t call it fascinating.”

“But it is!” Cyrus objected. “If one considers such to be a warning made by people from thousands of years ago, lost to time and now rediscovered, is it not appropriate to appreciate it? I would be thrilled to return there to examine it further!”

Ophilia frowned at that. “Surely that’s not necessary.”

“We stayed in there for hours,” Tressa agreed. “What’s more to see?”

“What _more_ , you ask? There is enough knowledge to sustain our research at the university for _centuries_ , and I never got to examine the mural as much as I needed, because mister Therion was in such a hurry for Northreach.” Cyrus paused and cleared his throat into his hand. “Apologies, miss Ravus. This is a passionate subject on my end. Surely you understand.”

“I do,” Cordelia assured him, her mind drawing shapes from his words. _Underground ruins. Ancient murals_. And once again, she was reminded of how little she knew about Northreach and Therion’s adventures, and that no matter _how_ she said goodbye to the man that had saved her family legacy, it would feel much too abrupt.

“Is that where you’re going, then? Duskbarrow?”

She was not sure why she asked. It got nothing to do with her.

Tressa leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms. “I vote _no_. I’ve got a better idea. You know Kit, who was in search of some lapis lazuli as a thank-you present for his theatre troupe? I saw some fine lapis lazuli on miss Cordelia’s bookshelf. If you’d let me buy it from you, miss Cordelia, we could help him out!”

“There’s no need to buy it,” Cordelia answered immediately. “I will give it freely, as thanks for your help.”

Heathcote nearly dropped his cup, but Tressa shone like a little sun. “I’m not gonna argue that! You’ve got yourself a bargain, miss Cordelia.”

It was worth Heathcote’s questioning glances. Cordelia knew which piece Tressa referred to, a fine specimen that had been saved and meant to be used for dying Cordelia’s future wedding dress. It could find much better uses lighting up someone else’s day, whoever this Kit-person was.

Although this meant a farewell was imminent. Cordelia was just as reluctant to admit it as she had been yesterday, clinging to what was exciting rather than known… and Ophilia’s eyes were on her, gentle and searching.

It did not have to be goodbye. If only she dared to ask, perhaps Ophilia would like to correspond to Cordelia’s letters like Noa did—

“Would you like to come with us and see it delivered?” Ophilia asked suddenly, and Cordelia did not understand that she was the one being addressed until the following silence convinced her.

“Me?” Cordelia stammered and looked around the table, searching for any sign of a mistake. There was none—Therion looked a bit surprised, and Primrose had arced a brow, but the rest of them smiled discreetly, as though if Ophilia would not have asked, they would have.

“Truly—?” Cordelia continued. “I…I am uncertain how I could provide you with anything, I have no special skills to speak of... and by the sounds of it, your travels have been dangerous.”

“But that’s all dealt with!” Tressa said excitedly. “Ophilia’s got a point! It’s not like Kit’s dangerous, the kid wouldn’t hurt a fly, and it’s always fun with some new people around. Guys, remember when Primrose danced so well a man said he’d follow us to all the way from Flamesgrace to Marsalim, and he _did_?”

“A bit of an oddball,” Primrose chuckled. “But he could at least appreciate art.”

“The stories that guy could tell, I swear,” Tressa continued, laughing. “Point is, Cordelia, we’d love to have you.”

Cordelia glanced over at Heathcote, whose eyes were narrowed. She should say no, she should stay put forever, but that would mean that she’d keep living a life she didn’t love and the world would keep being this vast unknown… The holes in her understanding of the world would never be whole, so many stories left untold that her pen could never bring to life…

She was not like Noa—she did not long for adventure for the sake of it, but now, saying no to this… it would be saying no to growth. To understanding.

Heathcote could say what he liked. Although she knew deep inside, he would accept her choices, because he said there was nothing he cared for more than her safety and happiness.

“Heathcote,” Cordelia said carefully. “I trust you to guard this mansion while I’m gone?”

Heathcote bent his head. “If that is what my lady desires. I will keep the manor standing until your return.” He dug his gaze into Therion and Tressa. “But I will not forgive it if she’s harmed, keep that well in mind.”

“Leave it to rest, old man,” Therion said. “I doubt there are any more nefarious plots to uncover after this year.”

“And if there were,” Tressa added. “It _definitely_ wouldn’t involve an amateur theatre troupe.”


	2. Ruins of Eld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“There is a dormant darkness within those ruins, thicker than the others may realize. It feels like a godless place.”_
> 
> To Cyrus' great excitement, the travelers return to the Ruins of Eld, and Cordelia realizes that firstly, she does not feel at home in the Darkwood, and secondly, she may have gotten involved in something larger than life.

Grandport was said to be a gift from Bifelgan, the patron god of trading and merchant-work. It was the largest city in the Coastlands and built like a massive stone fortress, like an extension of the shimmering waves—its multiple layers of stairs and bridges swirled just like the sea below. The base of the city was unfathomably massive and thick stone, built to stand the test of time and the constant erosion of the ocean.

Cordelia had seen it outlined against the horizon many times, but always from the curtained window of a wagon. There was a different sort of joy surging in her chest now; the pride of daring to go on this adventure and the contentment of being free to walk at her own pace. Relatively speaking at least, but her travel companions were in no rush.

They stopped at a small camp by the glittering sand dunes and palm trees of Grandport’s southern road, the Moonstruck Coast. The camp looked like it had been there a while, a few weeks at least. The grand wagon propped in the middle looked old and worn, flaky red paint falling off its sides. Since everyone in the camp was dressed like dancers and actors in fun colors, Cordelia would have been able to guess their profession even if she did not already know. This was the amateur theatre group the eight travelers had sought.

Cordelia hugged the lapis lazuli in her backpack, just making sure it was there, before handing it over to Tressa.

The theatre group was delighted to see them and greeted them like old friends—even Cordelia. The troupe leader was a man dressed in purple velvet and a poofy hat, and he insisted they stay for a midday meal once Tressa had walked up and handed the lapis lazuli to Kit, who in turn gifted the large gemstone to the troupe leader.

Kit had stood out to Cordelia immediately, even among a group of people with such eccentric costumes. He was about sixteen, his golden hair tied back and melting into a blue cape as bright as his smile, but those things were hard to pay attention to—because his eyes were so blue they almost hurt to look at, like a sun flare reflected from the brilliant blue waves of the ocean behind them.

The midday feast was a joyful occasion, and while Cordelia felt like she was imposing on them, she was quickly assured of the opposite. A friend of a friend, the troupe leader had smiled.

He stood up now, mug of fine apple cider in hand, raised to the sky.

“Today we say goodbye to a dear friend,” the troupe leader began. “It has been six wonderful months with Kit here with us, and thanks to him, our wagon will be as bright and blue as he is! Thank you, dear boy.” He smiled wider and knelt down to give Kit a warm hug, sniffling slightly before he got back up to standing. “I see each and every one of you in this troupe as my family, and trust me when I say it that you have been like a son to me, Kit. But! You have your real father out there somewhere, and I know that you will find him. You’re something special, and with your talent… Well, your old pops cannot stay hidden for long!”

Everyone chuckled, and Kit flushed with happiness. It was a lovely farewell. Cordelia did not think anyone would speak as kindly of her once she decided to step down from nobility, but just knowing that this was how the world could be… that gave her hope.

Once the midday meal was over, the eight travelers and Cordelia bid the troupe goodbye as well. Tressa had eagerly suggested they stop by Noa’s home in central Grandport, and had sent a letter ahead to inform her about the coming company. Cordelia looked forward to it—it had been at least seven months since she had seen her best friend in person.

It was late in the afternoon when they crossed over the wide drawbridge and passed through the Grandport gates. Noa waited for them by the main trading square, her long silver blond hair in a braided crown, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she sat on a bench in the outskirts of the plaza. Once she spotted Tressa, her face beamed with a smile, and she laughed out loud in surprise when Cordelia waved at her.

“You’re early,” Noa greeted them after hugging Tressa and Cordelia. “I thought I’d have to come and wait here for another day or so. How was Kit?”

“Oh, he was fine—job well done on all ends,” Tressa boasted with her arm in Noa’s. “Now the kid can keep looking for his dad without feeling indebted! He’s got a good merchant sense, so perhaps I should recruit him as my student, one day.”

“Take mercy on the poor child,” Therion said with a tilt of his head. “Hasn’t he been through enough?”

“Oh ha-ha,” Tressa said and put her hand on her hip. “Noa, uninvite Therion.”

Noa chuckled into her hand. “Helping Cordelia gives him a free pass, I’m afraid.”

“You’re stuck with me for a while yet,” Therion smirked at Tressa, who shouldered him in jest before they both laughed quietly about it.

Therion was quite lovely when he smiled. His expressions always had a snide edge, which had not changed in the year Cordelia had known him, but something was different about him since fulfilling the quest she’d forced upon him. He carried himself with pride, did not hiss and spit at everything. At times during their journey, he had reminded Cordelia of Heathcote. Watchful and cunning, but protective and kind all the same.

Cordelia was obviously not alone in noticing those traits. His friends trusted and loved him, one more than the others, deduced from the way Alfyn looked at him. It was nice for Cordelia to think that by ensnaring this thief in Heathcote’s trap, she had indirectly done him good. Considering she had felt guilty about tricking him into it for an entire year, this fact was a great relief.

They were let inside Noa’s father’s mansion by four stiff-looking guards (although their cheeks warmed a little as Primrose smiled and thanked them), and they were all offered a bath in separate chambers to wash the road grime off their skin. Cordelia had not realized how much she had missed hot water and sweet-smelling soap, but she still wouldn’t trade her week-long journey for the world.

Dinner begun at seven, and it was a feast that made Cordelia’s breakfast look small, which she did not mind that in the least. Her traveling companions all quieted down with food in their mouths, and Cordelia got the time to catch up with her friend while Tressa was busy competing with Alfyn who could finish a blackberry cake the fastest.

“I could never have guessed to find you with them, Cordelia,” Noa said as she pulled the crust of her bread and sprinkled it into her soup. “I thought you said you couldn’t leave Bolderfall for another few months.”

“Your influence, no doubt,” Cordelia chuckled. “It was impulse, really. They offered, and I thought of how much I would regret it if I said no. And it is so different to see the world on foot instead of from a wagon—you can dip your hand into pools of freshwater, feel the wind on your face and sleep beneath the night sky.”

It did feel a bit discourteous to say such things to Noa, who could not travel due to her weak legs, but Noa had always demanded that Cordelia be perfectly candid and refrain from cushioning everything the way her father did.

“It does sound wonderful,” Noa said with a secretive smile. “I’ll do it myself one day, and I mean it!” Her gaze darted over to Tressa, before she leaned even further over the table, positively shining with excitement. “I can show you how, okay?”

Whatever this was it was obviously important, and Cordelia gave her a stunned nod.

Tressa looked up from her blackberry cake as Noa got to standing, and supported by the table, she walked into a different room and ventured out with an unfamiliar contraption rolling before her.

Tressa dropped her spoon and came running up toward her, and Cordelia got to standing so she could see better.

It was a chair, but it moved on large wheels—the carpentry was incredible, and the metal treated until smooth.

“No way,” Tressa said. “You really did it!”

“Surprise,” Noa flushed and stroked the wood. She had caught the attention of the others as well, but she was mainly speaking to Tressa and Cordelia.

“I had a talk with my father”, she said with a smile at Tressa. “After you gave me your journal, I was clear about what I wanted. I told him to let me travel, and he finally yielded.”

Noa turned the chair around, the polished wood and leather gleaming in the lamplight.

“Tressa and I have already talked about this idea—rumor has it that the late Atlasdam queen had one of these, but it could only roll indoors. And after speaking to a few others like me, we all finally came up with a good outdoor design.”

Noa beamed and sat herself down, demonstrating how she could roll forwards and break with ease.

“This design will focus mainly on speed for me to propel myself forward—and by using this I’ll save a lot of energy for important things instead of wasting it on trying to walk.”

“That is incredible,” Cordelia gasped. Why she herself had never thought to imagine something like this… Noa had always been traveling in wagons but longed for the small paths wagons could never penetrate. This solution was so natural, so perfect for her.

“It is fantastic,” Noa agreed. “I’m going to test it out for a bit, and then I want for others like me to be offered the same… I’ve been lucky to have been offered carriage-rides at least, but there are lots of people only in Grandport that can’t afford that kind of transportation. I’m going out there, and I want them to be able to as well. It is just… incredible. I cannot believe I finally managed to reach out to my father after all these years…”

In her letters, Noa had spoken of how she had given up before even trying. Her father’s conviction was that Noa would always be weak and helpless, but Tressa’s journal had inspired her to capture the dreams she had been holding back. Make them a reality.

Alfyn leaned over the table, fully captivated, and Cyrus did the same.

“Ingenious,” Cyrus said. “But how will it manage the country roads? Its structure would not carry on uneven ground… but if one broadened the wheels…”

Tressa arced brow toward him. “You’ve really gotta butt into every conversation, huh?”

“Although he’s right,” Noa said with a slight chuckle. “That’s one issue we need to consider. And that’s why I’ve asked my father to not hold any more merchant’s fairs for my sake, but to put that money on making the main roads accessible for me and anyone else that will need this kind of chair.”

“That’s just _amazing_ ,” Tressa said and took Noa’s hands excitedly. “We’ll be travel buddies! I can’t believe it!”

“We’ll start small,” Noa said, her cheeks flushed with happiness. “But yes! I’d very much like that! There’s plenty for us to do first, though. So Tress, if there is anything you need to do, it’s best to not wait for me.”

“But soon you’ll come after me, trails blazing!” Tressa chuckled, and Noa kissed her cheek.

“Oh, so it’s okay when _they_ do PDA, huh,” Primrose mused.

Tressa ignored Primrose and looked back on the rest by the table. “But seriously guys, we’ve got nothing on the agenda, right? We can stay here and help out!”

“Olberic is the one keeping notes on people to potentially help,” Alfyn said. “Wanna let me take a look, man?”

Olberic handed him a notebook, and Alfyn skimmed through.

“Nope,” he said then. “Nothing here. But wait, who crossed out _help Alphas get a lady in Saintsbridge_? I thought we didn’t do that one.”

Primrose coughed into her hand, pointedly, but if there was a hint in there, it was not taken.

H’aanit shrugged. “’Twas a simple matter of matchmaking. Thou needen not be involved.”

“Alphas the heartbroken guy,” Tressa said and tapped her cheek. “About thirty-something? I remember him. He was totally in love with that silver-eyed lady who ditched him. You guys took him to the tavern and bought him food and left without him, is all I remember.”

“A sister to a Saintsbridge cleric was visiting,” Olberic shrugged. “Flora, I believe. She had her eyes on our friend Alphas, so Primrose introduced him. They are happily married, or they were when we went to Saintsbridge last. So that was a success, too.”

“Huh,” Alfyn said. “Why’d no one tell me?”

“You were busy treating the injuries of a _very_ unpleasant man,” Primrose answered with a chill to her voice. “Didn’t want to remind you of it.”

“Fair enough,” Alfyn grimaced. “Well then, point is; Tressa’s right. We’ve got nothing on the agenda.”

“I, for one, would disagree,” Cyrus said. “I really do posit a trip back to Duskbarrow would be in its _utmost_ place. I’ve been developing theories about the nature of the religion in ancient Hornburg for half a decade, and this find may serve important clues to add to my hypothesis… Another look at the mural, and I may crack the code, as it were. I will go alone, if none of you are willing.”

“Your safety is important,” Olberic said, without a moment’s thought. “I, at least, shall accompany you.”

H’aanit gave a short nod. “I shallen go as well. I knowen the woods, and I can find my master and tellen him of my plans.”

Primrose’s expression softened, and she leaned her head in her hand with half-closed eyelids. “Think he’ll approve of me stealing you for a time?”

“’Tis not his call to make,” H’aanit said, her tone neutral as ever, but there was a smile in her eyes.

Alfyn shrugged and looked at Therion. “How about a trip to the woods?”

“Got nothing better to do,” Therion said. “Anyone else want to join this camping trip?”

Ophilia had been her usual quiet self, smiling her gentle smiles, but now she pushed her lips together like she was in pain. “I will go.”

Cordelia looked at her, trying to figure out what could be the matter, but Ophilia met none of their gazes. She fiddled with the food on her plate, absentmindedly.

The fact that seven out of eight had already voiced their plans seemed to pressure Tressa into agreeing, but she threw a guilty gaze on Noa.

Noa caught her hand. “It’s all right, Tressa. Don’t hold back for my sake. I _mean_ it; don’t wait. I’ll come after you soon… what did you say, trails blazing?”

“Yeah,” Tressa smiled. “And… sure. Thanks. Someone needs to make sure these guys don’t do anything stupid, and it might as well be me.”

Therion leaned over the table, looking like he wanted to speak up, but stayed silent.

And Cordelia considered what it would be like for her to stay here with Noa. A Grandport vacation of sorts. She had received bits and pieces of the stories of the eight travelers up until that point, but there were still more holes that she wanted to fill. And Ophilia’s slight distress… What were these ruins like, if she looked so unwilling to venture toward them?

“May I… still go with you?” Cordelia asked. Noa gave her another questioning look, then she smiled, looking almost… _proud_. Proud of Cordelia for finally taking the chances Noa would have in a heartbeat, if their places were interchanged.

“Of course,” Ophilia said, and dropped her fiddling of the cutlery. Her knife balanced on the of the plate, before it fell with a rattle onto the wooden table.

Strangely loud. Or perhaps it was just Ophilia that was strangely quiet, her troubled eyes set on the knife’s edge.

\---

The Woodlands was so thick with greenery, Cordelia could not see the bend of the Cliftlands to the south, even though she _knew_ the steep red cliffs were no more than a day’s wagon ride down the main road.

Perhaps because they never really walked on the main roads. H’aanit led them down paths overgrown with cowberry and blueberry and birch and evergreens, Linde’s white fur flashing through the trees. Cordelia held her hands close to her chest, tried her best to relax, but the experience was nothing less than claustrophobic. She was used to open roads and naked cliffs and wide-stretching horizons.

The others noticed. Sometimes Ophilia offered her hand as they climbed more sloped paths, and Olberic had taken to walking behind her like a human shield, his deep voice telling her that she was doing great.

Cordelia was grateful for it, and she was determined in not slowing them down. She had dressed in her most comfortable gown before leaving Bolderfall, but since that had turned out to be chafing and torn, the others had introduced her to more simple linen clothes early on. She was glad for it now, her simple brown pants and green tunic making her look more or less like H’aanit with shorter hair (and pearl earrings, and Cordelia liked to believe she smiled more often than H’aanit did).

They stopped by in S’warkii, a small village almost built into the trees—one moment they were walking in the woods and the next H’aanit walked round the bend of an inn.

“Impressive shortcut,” Alfyn complimented her, brushing pine needles out of his hair, then picked some of them up from his shoulder to put them in his apothecary satchel.

Cordelia gladly sat down in the simple tavern, tried not to think about how they had barely scraped the surface of the Darkwood, and Duskbarrow was almost in the middle of it all. She might be better off taking this chance to explore the village and get a better understanding of the place, but as H’aanit walked away to find her old hunting master, Cordelia appreciated the familiar feeling of walls. It gave her a more diluted experience.

Plenty of people in this village had, similar to H’aanit, an animal companion or two following them. The barkeep had a large brown owl perched in the corner, and perhaps it was only her caution talking, but it seemed to look at her like she was a mouse or a rabbit.

Cordelia tried to ignore the uncanny stare and listened to Cyrus explain the detail of every design choice of the houses and S’warkii’s historical value, giving herself something to distract her with (Therion had said that he was happy with as many people diluting Cyrus’ lectures as possible, and Cordelia was honestly glad to be given the chance to learn something from an actual professor).

“S’warkii has been situated in the Darkwood since the time of yore, with hunters inhabiting the region for as long as history goes—though the fact that they have never had any kings or the like makes them sadly overlooked by historians as a less civilized people. But that could not be further from the truth! The people of the Darkwood likely coexisted with other most ancient regions, trading wood produces across Orsterra. Say, are you aware of which ones?”

“Geographically, it would make sense for them to trade with the eight clans of the Flatlands,” Cordelia answered. “And perhaps the Cliftlands, although that region is said to begin with my family moving there, some centuries ago. You’re probably referring to the old Flatland clans.”

A spark ignited in Cyrus’ eyes. “I am most pleased to hear you know of them! Indeed, the old warring clans have a fascinating history, especially when factored into Grandport’s naval attempt at war and our following alliance… But our history stretches only a thousand years back. I was intending we go back further.”

Cordelia frowned down into her glass of pressed apples. “Are you speaking of Hornburg?”

“ _Precisely_ ,” Cyrus said and put his hands down on the table.

Cordelia should have guessed. The nature of ancient Hornburg was of particular interest to Cyrus (he had even shared some of his papers that he brought with him wherever he went, all researched and written by him alone). To many, the mention of Hornburg was a scar that still ached. That kingdom had been standing proudly in the Highlands for longer than the written word, but fifteen years ago, it had fallen after a civil war that had bled all over southern Orsterra.

Olberic stood by the door, silent and still as a statue, a pint of ale in his hands and his gaze set on Cyrus.

Alfyn had let slip of Olberic’s history as a knight of Hornburg, and Olberic had confirmed it with a neutral expression. He stated how he had even seen his king and liege fall with his own eyes. He was one of many scattered remnants of a culture that had been lost. He did not look pained, but Cordelia could sympathize with having one’s roots pulled from beneath…although what Cordelia had lost was nothing close to something that had survived since almost the dawn of the gods, the way Hornburg had.

“I have a staunch belief that the ancient Hornburgians had more business in the Darkwoods than we’ve previously believed,” Cyrus continued, seemingly unaware of Olberic’s eyes on him. “The Ruins of Eld is nearly proof of that theory, and I cannot wait until you see it for yourself, miss Ravus!”

“You do make me curious, Professor Albright,” Cordelia said, and although she was slightly fearful for what exactly these ruins would be like, it was the truth.

They spent the night in S’warkii’s inn, and once H’aanit was finished with her business, they ventured out into the thick woods again.

Cordelia held Ophilia’s hand more often than not, afraid of getting lost in this maze of unkind nature, and the second night, that they spent sleeping beneath a pine, Cordelia had found Ophilia’s arm to hold on to.

\---

Duskbarrow was much like S’warkii, but when they arrived it was still morning, and the entire village glittered with dew. A boy ran across the village with an empty water bucket, a tiger cub trotting after him, but apart from that, the place had a stillness to it. Cordelia once again found herself willing to crawl into an inn or tavern and hide away from the pressure of the woods.

That was not an option. Cyrus strode with a skip in his step and gestured to the north (where there barely was a path to walk, as had become the norm for their Woodland travels), no interest in rest.

 _It is all right_ , Cordelia thought. _It will be an adventure to tell Noa about_.

The others went ahead through the thick pine trees, Therion with his hands in his pocket but smiling all the same (a small Therion-smile) at Alfyn, and Tressa used the butt of her pike to bash some of the branches away. H’aanit looked like she melted into the trees, and Primrose, with the grace in her step, did the same, while Olberic forged a path like a rock through the ice.

The tar kilns were not too far away from the village, grassy piles of earth fortified with flat blocks of limestone steamed like chimneys, but Cyrus kept going north until they reached on that was not active.

The other tar kilns had had openings (where the wood was shovelled in and the tar came out), but there was a flickering light within those. This one had nothing but a gaping hole an arm’s length across. Sizable enough for the others to slip down without second thought, but Cordelia could only stare down into the darkness.

Ophilia had noticed Cordelia’s hesitance, and stopped in front of her.

“You may stay behind if you like,” she said. “Don’t worry about appearing weak.”

Without judgement. Just stating a fact.

“Thank you,” Cordelia answered. “But I don’t think I want to. I’m not… afraid.”

She was pretty good at lying even though she hated doing it, but she was sure Ophilia saw right through her anyway.

“I am,” Ophilia said, yet again stating simple fact. “There is a dormant darkness within those ruins, thicker than the others may realize. It feels like a godless place.”

“But you’re still going down there,” Cordelia stated.

“Yes. The gods may have no presence in those depths, but to me, that means I have all the more responsibility to go. Humans carry the forces of the gods with us. That cannot be taken away from us, even in the darkest of places. I will bring Aelfric’s light and make sure my friends come home safe.”

Cordelia felt the corners of her eyes hurt. Ophilia knew where she belonged, she had a purpose, but having a place seemed to hurt and mean you had to do things you may not want to. But it was worth that, wasn’t it?

And a part of her would never forgive her if she did not take this chance. She watched Ophilia stand there, her dark gloves pulled up to her elbows, staff resting in her hanging arms. Then she nodded.

Without any more words, she stepped forth, and Ophilia took her hand, helped her slip down into the unknown.

Her feet hit the familiar cold stone of stairs. She had to twist around and crawl backwards the first few steps, the jagged rock scraping against her palms. She felt the ceiling disappear above her and dared to stand upright. Further down the stairs she saw two lanterns swaying where the others walked (and Cordelia could hear Tressa’s voice, as energetic as ever). The top of the stairs was still dark, until Ophilia entered behind her, her staff emitting a white light that cast long shadows on the walls.

No one had cared to make the stairway down safe—or perhaps it had been safe, once in a distant past, but that must have been a thousand years ago—and the dampness made everything slippery.

Ophilia reached her hand out, like she had so many times before in the Darkwood.

“I have walked these steps once before. I can guide you.”

Cordelia took her hand. It was warm, and she felt her legs grow surer just from the simple contact.

The further down they went, the thicker the air seemed to grow. Cordelia was not any more afraid of this hole than she had feared the harsh nobles who would want to press her face down into muddy water if they got the chance, but she at least knew how to handle those. Being so cut off from what was natural and bright felt _wrong_ ; she almost missed the crowded feeling of the woods above.

“So ancient Hornburgians built this,” Cordelia said, mostly to occupy her thoughts. “Did Olberic know about it before you came here the first time?”

“Olberic did not know,” Ophilia said. “Cyrus has drawn every single shred of information from him—not that I think Olberic minds his scrutinizing, but he knows very little. A knight of the king did not ask any questions. And most of Hornburg’s history is as shrouded and forgotten to its descendants as it is to us.”

“I can understand where professor Albright’s curiosity stems from,” Cordelia said. “I find history fascinating as well, with all the mysteries waiting to be solved. I’ve educated myself through our library books alone, but still.”

“Shouldn’t speak ill of library books when Cyrus might hear,” Ophilia said, skipping down over a broken step through supporting herself on the cave wall, and helping Cordelia along.

“Speaking of,” Cordelia said, “I am curious about the alleged library down here. Ancient tomes and books lost to time—it’s as though taken straight out of a bard’s song.”

“I cannot say I am as fond of such tomes,” Ophilia said truthfully. “Cyrus claims no knowledge is evil in and of its own, but the tome that started all this described horrendous rituals for blood sacrifice, and it cost many innocent townspeople their lives.”

Cordelia had received a brief and confused recapitulation of the abhorrent truths uncovered by Cyrus’ poking his nose into the business of lost tomes. She still felt like a knot twisted in her belly when she thought about it—they had told her about the kidnappings in Quarrycrest, a town just a few hours ride away from Bolderfall.

It could have been _her_ dragged into a cellar and slowly drained of her lifeblood. All in pursuit of power from the thirteenth god.

Cordelia’s chest felt cold. She understood what Ophilia meant—something was _missing_ from this place. It felt so abandoned and… unholy. The stone beneath her feet had flattened, which made it easier to walk, but she was still connected to Ophilia by the hand. The light of the lanterns grown closer. The others must have reached the mural.

“In all scriptures, the thirteenth was referred to as _The Fallen_ ,” Cordelia overheard Cyrus say. “But in ‘ _From The Far Reaches of Hell_ ’, he was repeatedly referred to as _The Salvager_ or _The Savior_. We know that Galdera was seen as a fair ruler of death before his greed for power and unwillingness to leave the mortal realm caused his downfall… And as such, is it not likely that our ancient ancestors may have worshiped him as we do Aelfric in the church of the present? I hear what you’re thinking—surely, there were no humans involved before or during the war of the gods! But I say, what if there were? I believe that the religion that founded Hornburg in ancient times revered Galdera just as much as Aelfric, if not more!”

Such heresy would ordinarily cause the churches Knights Ardante to hunt Cyrus into exile, but no church soldiers were around to hear him, and when Cordelia glanced over at Ophilia, she looked like she was used to this sort of thing.

The cave was opening up more, like a gigantic church in its own right, with mossy pillars upholding the ceiling. In the middle of it all was a cracked mural, built to withstand time and despite that still not close to whole.

Although the mural had been described to her, Cordelia’s breath still halted in her chest when she stopped before it and Ophilia’s light cascaded over its edges.

In its center, a giant four-legged creature was painted flat against the stone wall, surrounded by an open gate and flames of faded colors. Eyes protruded from its head, its hands and its back. It seemed to have more arms than Cordelia could count, arms curled outward and hands extended as though the bodies they would have belonged to was in great pain. Perhaps the artist had meant for it to be interpreted as though this giant creature had lain down and crushed a few dozen people, or maybe those were oddly shaped spikes.

Cordelia had combed through a few of her Art History books at home, but it did not do her much good. The flames, the gate—those were all guesses on her end, colored by what Cyrus had already said about this mural on their travels. Everything about the image was uncertain, except for the eyes. They were still in pristine condition, painted with bright unnatural red.

Below the large creature-thing, a few tiny beasts with the same kind of eyes crawled about, and around the rest of the mural, ancient runes were repeated with unsettling exactness. It looked as though the artists had done their utmost to make this mural perfect, and yet also like they’d been in a hurry, as though flames were licking their feet.

“Aah,” Cyrus sighed happily as Cordelia and Ophilia joined them. “Thank you for the light, Sister Ophilia! And thank you all for your patience. I finally have enough time to delve! I promise you; this is a discovery worthy of our attention… A well-kept piece of art from an era before the teachings of the Sacred Flame, before the written word as we know it—”

“You can stop hyping it up,” Therion snapped. “It’s cold down here. Just do your thing, old man.”

Alfyn had his axe out and resting on his shoulder. “If you want something to do, we could keep a lookout for bats or something! I betcha there’s some real nice Addlewort down here, and if we ask the bats _nicely_ , we might even get some of their venom they get from ingesting that stuff.”

“How much is it worth?” Tressa asked, and Alfyn held up four fingers, something that made Tressa smile wide. “Well, in _that_ case—mind if I go with you?”

“It’s cute how excited you two get about venom goo,” Primrose teased. “I’ll stay here if you don’t mind.”

“Have fun with the professor,” Therion quipped back. “I can steal some wax from Alfyn’s satchel if you want to prop your ears.”

“Again, Therion, it’s not _stealing_ when I’m literally offering them.”

Therion only shrugged and scurried into the darkness. Alfyn followed with a slight smile, his eyes on the ceiling (looking for bats, clearly), before he too disappeared with Tressa at his heel.

Cyrus looked as though he had barely noticed three of his friends leaving, his focus was fully on the mural, fingers brushing his chin.

“High Hornburgian is tricky, but the central runes are the easiest part,” Cyrus said. “They spell out _Gate of Finis_. Or _Gate of Finery_ , but considering that wouldn’t add up grammatically, I doubt it. No, it’s definitely _Finis_ , even though that word in itself doesn’t mean anything to us in the present.”

He moved to the left and hovered with his finger over the repetitious pattern of runes that had faded into one another, looking like the rock itself had bled.

“Now, this collection of runes here says _NO_ , exactly two hundred and forty times,” he continued. “And this one says _DEATH_ sixty-five times, _DOOM_ sixty-five times and _DESTRUCTION_ sixty-four times. The last part is a bit scribbled. Now, these numbers hold no significance in ancient Hornburgian lore, but there might be a code to it.”

He walked a few steps to the right, clearly not expecting an answer. “And by studying ‘ _From The Far Reaches of Hell_ ’, we have learned that there is a seal called The Gate of Finis, withholding the Dark God from devouring our world. Our other scriptures all say Galdera was _killed_ by the other gods, but it does not seem so… We have seen proof of his presence, most notably in the ritual Sir Mattias attempted.”

“He does not deserve the title _sir,_ ” Primrose snapped. “Not after what he did to all those people, and to Ophilia.”

Ophilia merely shook her head, her eyes on the mural as well. “It is all right, Primrose. Thank you. But Mattias is dead. It doesn’t matter how we speak of him now.”

“Sir Mattias wanted for Galdera to return,” Cyrus continued, as though he had not heard anything of what they had said. “He intended to force a way for the thirteenth to pass through, bypassing the seal without opening the Gate of Finis. It was quite clever, to use the flame of the Kindling to attach Galdera to Aelfric—and thus give him the power to escape.”

H’aanit put a hand on Ophilia’s shoulder in a show of support. Cordelia had never heard the details of this story, since it seemed to make Ophilia uncomfortable—and now Ophilia kept her gaze on the mural, her mouth a thin line.

“But that plan was doomed to fail,” Cyrus said. “The _Gate_ is what is holding Galdera back. And now, for the truly engaging part—a closer look on this mural, and it is clear that it is made by human hands. _Humans_ were involved in Galdera’s seal. Hornburgians, to be exact. Oh, what a thrill to speak such bold words— _humans_ saw the war between gods, they saw death, they saw doom and destruction, but they managed to contain it. This mural is a warning. The Gate must not be opened. There is no need for eloquent poetry when all that needs to be spoken are three words—but imagine if these ancients had left us more to uncover! What exactly was it that they saw? Did they know how the seal was made? Is the Gate itself hidden somewhere in this world…?” He clapped his hands together. “These ruins, this _mural_ alone is a treasure trove for any scholar!”

“I feel like you’re not taking this seriously enough,” Ophilia finally objected. “It’s not just theory, Professor. This knowledge cost lives.”

“Indeed it did,” Cyrus said, without any change in tone. “But knowledge of history is necessary for avoiding its repeats, is that not so? Now, Olberic, let us converse further—the leader of Hornburg’s civil war, he mentioned the Gate, correct?”

“Werner,” Olberic said with a distaste that was rare for him. “It is true. I did not understand what he meant at the time, but he wanted possession of the Gate of Finis. I thought it the ramblings of a dying man, or a taunt. Anyone could build a gate, after all.”

“But not a gate like _this_ ,” Cyrus pointed out. “I couldn’t possibly cite a crazed dictator as a source for my paper, but it helps draw my conclusion that the Gate may be situated in Hornburg. I do not mean to pester you, my dear friend, but is this imagery like anything you saw in Hornburg?”

“Never,” Olberic said with utmost certainty. “Some High Hornburgian runes were stitched into the cloaks of the knights, but they meant strength and virtue. However… With a closer look… The Hornburgian emblem is half an oval.” He drew his sword with a grunt, and showed them the pommel where the silver emblem reflected light back at them. “…Does that not look like a _closed_ eye to you?”

Silence fell, and Olberic lowered the sword. “I apologize”, he said. “I should leave speculations to the rest of you.”

“No, no, that is precisely what I asked for”, Cyrus said, looking at the sword with piercing intensity. “A closed eye! Genius! The ancient Hornburgians were somehow involved in the creation of the Gate, and the closing of Galdera’s eyes… Mere speculation, of course, but please, keep it coming. H’aanit, my friend, you’ve been particularly quiet.”

“I am so whilst thinking,” H’aanit said, then knelt down by the base of the mural. “I am no scholar. History interest me little; the hunt, more so.”

She took great care in not touching or damaging the mural and gestured at the few tiny beasts below the large creature at the center of the image. They were so small and easily overlooked, they seemed to function more like a decorative frame, but they were no doubt meant to be beasts, with four flat legs and the same kind of bright red eyes as the image of Galdera.

“A year of my life I spenden hunting a beast of unspoken powers and a nature cruel,” H’aanit said. “’Twas no ordinary beast created by birth. ‘Twas a beast like these.”

“The Redeye,” Primrose whispered in silent agreement. “H’aanit, gods be damned, you’re _right_ —those little ones look just like it. Are you suggesting…the Gate is open? Was that perhaps why there was a Redeye loose in the south?“

“I suggeste nigh speculations,” H’aanit said gravely, and somewhere in the darkness, Linde growled like she wanted a say as well. “My people knowen mostly Draefendi of the hunt. Thus, my knowledge of gods aren limited. I doe see the beast Redeye in this image, and I shallen leaven it at that.”

Cordelia had not heard this story either, and was it not for the pressing darkness on her temples, she would have listened more intently.

“Now that you mention it…” Cyrus knelt down beside H’aanit. “Dark, drooling beasts with eyes like flame and the curse of petrification… Truly unpleasant memories. It was far more stressful being petrified by dark magic than one would realize, but on the other hand, in a controlled setting, perhaps—”

“So the Redeye and the Gate of Finis may be connected?” Olberic interrupted him. “Is that perhaps why Werner desired to possess the gate?”

“An army of such beasts would be troublesome indeed,” Primrose said bitterly and tapped the most prominent eye. “But if the Gate _was_ open, we should have seen more than just one lost demon. Maybe it slipped out during one of the rituals Cyrus and Ophilia uncovered… Or else we would have noticed something else amiss. Compared to this big beast, those Redeyes down there look like wolf pups.”

“Galdera,” Ophilia said. “I do not understand how so many people across Orsterra have dabbled in his darkness… And most of us were none the wiser.”

Cordelia shivered. She felt like she was in way over her head, and an even bigger part of her longed for the safety and warmth of her mansion. Where the most important treasures were finally back where they belonged for the first time in six years…

The thought halted in her head.

The Dragonstones were so familiar to her. She knew their jewelled lines and their bright colors like the back of her hand, despite being separated from them for so long, and something in her mind clicked as she now stared at the mural.

“These runes,” Cordelia said and hovered with her fingers over the central runes. “…The Dragonstones have the same ones carved into them. I thought they looked familiar…”

Cyrus got to standing and twirled around on the spot. “ _Miss Ravus_! Keep speaking, please. Are the Dragonstones connected to the gate?”

Maybe she should not say anything else—after all, what if these people had ill intent, despite their friendliness? But if they did… they had had plenty of chances of taking the Dragonstones from her before then.

“I don’t know,” Cordelia said truthfully. “I know they are important... because my parents told me so over and over. They were gifts to my family from an old king. My father said they were a thousand years old, but I think he exaggerated. He told me he would pass on the family secrets regarding the Dragonstones to me one day, but he died before then. He did not trust me to be able to keep the secret until I was grown…”

“Still, the dots connect,” Cyrus said, thrilled as ever. “If only Therion would have allowed me to study the Dragonstones while they were in his possession! Perhaps we could have known more!”

“They _are_ still in my home,” Cordelia said hesitantly. “But only my family can withstand its influence for longer times. Any attempt to delve into and study the stones causes you to lose your mind. It is a defensive charm, and I would advise against trying to uncover their secrets if you value your mind intact.”

“A quick look cannot hurt,” Cyrus said cheerfully, in strange contrast to the doom and gloom behind him. “And I trust Olberic would be kind enough to drag me out of the room if I do insist to stay longer.”

“Suppose I could do that,” Olberic nodded. “You do not weigh very much, after all.”

“Then it’s decided!” Cyrus said. “We return to Bolderfall manor at the earliest opportunity!”

“I would speak out against how it is not your turn to pick a destination,” Primrose said and leaned on her hip. “But now I just want to see it to the end… Are you all right with postponing our travels alone, H’aanit?”

“I am”, H’aanit said with a smile. “Although I doe look forward to when the day cometh.”

“You two are so cute,” Tressa’s cheerful voice cut through the darkness. “Relationship goals. Hey, everyone!”

Cordelia turned her eye to the right of them, where Tressa came walking with sure steps and a small lantern of her own, leading the way for Therion and Alfyn (who rummaged around his satchel, looking very pleased with himself).

“Did you find anything out from the creepy wall?” Alfyn asked, not looking up.

Primrose tilted her head and gestured toward the way out. “We’ll fill you in on the way. I can’t be alone in wanting to leave this place as soon as possible.”

\---

Cordelia had a slight headache as they left Duskbarrow. The brightness of the surface world came as a shock for her eyes, like a dagger into her skull. The crisp chill on the wind soothed her, though, and whatever had been _missing_ below, there was plenty of at the surface. Divine presence, perhaps.

Their decision to turn toward Bolderfall was as abrupt as many things seemed to be in this group. It was a relief for Cordelia to know they would be reaching familiar landscapes, and eventually, the warmth of her home. She might have gotten her fair share of adventure now. Perhaps she should give Heathcote less to worry about and stay in her manor when the others left for their undoubtedly just as abrupt new path.

But then again, she would have to bid Ophilia goodbye. She had not asked about letter correspondences yet, but…once Ophilia went back home, she’d be trained to take up the duty of _Archbishop_. Those surely had no time over for letters.

And frustratingly, the holes in her knowledge were as diverse as before. One hole filled but three more opened. Cordelia wanted nothing more than to sit down with each of the travelers, get their stories somewhat sorted and write them down herself.

It was silly to hope for such things, though. They owed her nothing, and while they seemed to like having her around, she knew that at least Primrose would not yield a single word of her past. The others gladly shared some stories of their own, but kept interrupting one another or losing interest, like they did not care for the magnitude of their former actions. And when it came to Primrose, they guarded her secrets as staunchly as she did, out of loyalty and respect. Cordelia was an outsider in that regard. She shared a similar past with Primrose as a disgraced noble, but Cordelia had not really clicked with her regardless, and all she knew was that Primrose had slit more than a few throats.

“It takes a while for Primrose to trust you,” Alfyn had cheerfully told her. “Don’t take it personally! I found her injured at the side of the road outside Sunshade and went over to help her, and she nearly stabbed me! Twice!”

Cordelia would try to remember that. If all she got were snippets, it could still work for her to pen down their stories. Maybe she could ask for that in trade for letting them study the Dragonstones. She felt sure that Tressa would support her in such a bargain.

And it felt nice to have something that felt like a purpose, aside from planning out which treasures she would sell. Where she would give away the profits to.

Two more days passed. Cordelia was grateful that H’aanit stayed on the larger roads on the way back. It was quicker to get to Bolderfall that way, since Cliftlands roads were not made for shortcuts.

The sun filtered through the rustling trees without more than one or two wild boars glaring at them threateningly (to which Linde glared back, and no fight ensued). It was a peaceful walk, at least until H’aanit suddenly stopped in the front.

“Something the matter?” Olberic asked.

“’Tis so,” H’aanit answered sternly, placing an arrow on her bow, her gaze set into the sparkling trees. Linde circled about her legs and growled deep in her throat. “I hearde a sound most foul. A large beast walketh this trail.”

Olberic nodded and glanced back at the rest. “We’ll proceed carefully. Quiet down, back there.”

Ophilia glanced behind her, and Cordelia clasped her hands to her chest. So far there had been nothing that Linde or H’aanit or Olberic had not been able to guard them from, Alfyn had even given them all mosquito repellent—her fear of the woods had not been of the animal kind. But what kind of beast caused a seasoned huntress to _stop_ like that?

Her skin crawled with the memories of the mural, the stories H’aanit had told about the Redeye. A demonic creature that could tear through leagues of armed men.

A roar echoed over the trees, and Cordelia clenched her fists harder. She was safe… She was safe with these people.

They kept walking down the trail, and further away something spectacularly blue stood parked on the edge of the road. It was a wagon, and truly impressive at that, it sparked as though had just been painted over with the most quality paint that sparkled like lapis lazuli—

“It’s Kit’s theatre troupe,” Primrose said quietly. “They’ve come quite a long way from Grandport.”

The leader of the troupe, red cloak and all, twirled around dramatically when they got closer. Cordelia recognized him clearly. Not more than three weeks had passed since she had heard him give his passionate speech of farewell to Kit.

“Ah! More travelers,” the troupe leader said, then paused and arced a brow. “Oh, why, hello! It’s _you_. I did not expect to see you here. Small world!”

H’aanit gave him the tiniest of nods in affirmation, her gaze still set on the trail ahead of them.

The leader of the troupe was not intimidated by that, however. He smiled wide. “Before you ask, the troupe is all doing fine. We still miss Kit, but the show must go on! We put on a good show in Victor’s Hollow, and are now on the way to fine Quarrycrest. We’d been hoping to get through this route, but there is a fearsome monster up ahead, we’ve heard. The S’warkii people warned us of it.”

“And yet thou ventured on,” H’aanit said skeptically, her eyes digging into the forest around them.

“Well,” one of the theatre troupe dancers said from her place atop the wagon. “A travelling swordsman passed by not so long ago. Once we told him the rumors, he said he’d defeat the monster, and so we felt safe enough to leave.”

“But he has not returned,” the leader continued. “I do hope he’s all right… We do not dare to go any further. Perhaps it is best if we turn back to S’warkii, but that poor swordsman…”

“Hey,” Primrose muttered and grabbed Alfyn’s arm. “That might be your guy—or a beast. There’s _something_ down the road, anyway.”

H’aanit’s attention snapped to where the trail winded round and through thick trees… Cordelia narrowed her eyes, focused her senses, and yes, something _did_ move further ahead.

“‘Tis a man,” H’aanit said. “Wounded, perchance.”

That was all the prompting Alfyn needed. He set out into a jog, turned around the bend and reappeared soon after with a man in soldier’s uniform supported on his shoulders.

“Forgive me,” the man gasped when Alfyn put him down on the ground by the troupe’s wagon. “I was not up to the task…”

Alfyn bandaged him with skilful resolve, and the man focused his eyes on Primrose.

“Hold on… I know you… you introduced me to Flora… my wife…”

“That’s right,” Primrose said. “Hello, Alphas. Fancy meeting you here.”

Cordelia was somehow not surprised that these travelers knew almost everyone they met by name.

Alphas chuckled. “Yes… If I don’t make it, could you tell her—”

“Tell ’er yourself,” Alfyn interrupted him. “You’ll make it through this. I’m not worried for ya. A few bad scratches, is all.”

Alphas closed his eyes. “Thank you… That’s mighty kind of you, apothecary. You mend me, just as your friends mended my heart when it was broken by that cruel woman Lybalc…”

“She is not cruel simply for not returning your affections,” Primrose was quick to say.

“Although she sure was a bit creepy,” Therion added. “Just saying.”

“Thou speaketh not of important matters,” H’aanit snapped at them. “The beast remains yonder. Alphas, tellen me what beast you fought.”

“A tiger…” Alphas said, still with his eyes closed. “Large as a horse… Gleaming blue eyes… Claws like swords…”

“An azure-eyed tiger,” H’aanit nodded. “I see. Thanke thee. I hast hunted one before. They wouldst not lingeren this close to human roads in good health… But when sickness striketh them, they turnen desperate, though naught desperate enough to pursuen a wounded man… I shalle put it out if its misery anon.”

“Will you take it on alone?” Primrose asked, standing straight.

“Nay. I prefereth thine company to watchen mine back, Primrose. And Olberic, wilst thou join us? I wouldst like to asken Alfyn as well.”

“Ya might need bandages,” Alfyn said and got to his feet as well. “Hint taken. I’ve gotcha, H’aanit.”

“Then the rest of us will guard the troupe,” Ophilia promised. “No ill will befall them as long as we’re here.”

“Hear-hear”, Tressa grinned, releasing the pike from her back.

Cordelia had none of their confidence, but she nodded too. She could at least keep watch. She was happy not being forced along to fight a crazed tiger.

H’aanit stepped into the woods with her entourage, and the forest grew eerily quiet. No one quipped or joked around. They simply waited.

Ophilia had knelt down with her staff beside Alphas, a light surrounding her hands as she clasped them in prayer. Cordelia was not sure what else to do, so she sat down there too. Alphas breathing had eased as he lay in the dirt.

“Thanks, Sister,” he muttered, eyes closed.

Then, despite seemingly being in pain, he fell asleep.

Cordelia looked nervously at Ophilia. “Did you do that?”

Ophilia unclasped her hands. “I did. What do you know about the healing graces of Aelfric?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Cordelia answered honestly. “I had no idea you could put people to sleep.”

“Put simply, magical healing focuses more on internal factors than external ones. To someone not in either field, they might seem like the same thing, but they are not. Alfyn could give someone a drought that induces sleep, while my magic takes refuge in their bodies and make them fall asleep as though they would normally. My way is less potent, but it has fewer side effects too.”

“That is amazing,” Cordelia smiled, albeit a bit tense. “I’ve tried to read books on medicine, but that hasn’t gotten me very far. The human body is… really complicated.”

“It surely is,” Ophilia smiled. “You seem to have wanted to educate yourself on many things. This is not the first time you say such things.”

Cordelia blushed. “Well, it’s—A lot of books and a lot of time, and… and few friends. That’s how.”

Ophilia did not look as though she judged Cordelia at all. She reached for Cordelia’s hand and placed her own hand over it, her standard gentle smile displayed.

“I think such curiosity is admirable. And to all who looked away from you in the past… It was a true loss on their part.”

“Thank you,” Cordelia said, her chest warm. She would miss Ophilia a lot once they parted ways.

A roar echoed over the trees, and Cordelia startled back with a gasp. Then everything fell silent again. Yes, she would miss Ophilia, but she also could not wait to leave these woods.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Tressa said, her pike hoisted.

Therion stuck out his head from behind the wagon, dagger in his hand.

“Think it means they were hurt?” Cordelia could not have been mistaken, he sounded… almost anxious. “I’ll go check.”

“Nu-uh,” Tressa said. “If H’aanit wanted us to stay, that means we’d just get in the way. She knows all this hunting way better than all of us. You’d likely just ruin things for them.”

“You’re such a brat,” Therion hissed, but he could not argue against her, even though he paced on the spot.

“Therion,” Ophilia said, extending a hand. “They’ll be all right. You know they will.”

Therion only glanced at her hand, but he did so thoughtfully, not with any contempt. Although he did not take it, his face softened all the same.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Thanks.”

It was not magic. Ophilia could soothe aching hearts and sores of worry with nothing but her presence. Cordelia felt it herself, all the time.

They waited in silence for a bit longer, listening for any signs of life beyond the road. It was getting unbearable, but then the bushes rustled.

Cordelia got up into a crouching position and clenched her fists. She was not sure what she would do if a beast erupted, but Heathcote had taught her a few tricks. She wouldn’t’ just cower in fear.

But no tiger approached them. It was H’aanit, her bow sheathed, her face indifferent as always. Behind her walked Primrose and Alfyn, and Therion’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Last came Olberic, carrying a tiger on his shoulders. Its eyes were open and bloodshot, blue as the wagon, but unseeing. An arrow was lodged in its throat and a leghold trap bit into its hind paw.

“Incredible,” the troupe leader gasped, and Alphas stirred awake.

“Hm? Oh, ouch—” He had sat up before Cordelia had the time to stop him, and he stared wide-eyed at the tiger. “Well, I’ll be damned! That’s the very same beast!”

“By the Lady of Grace,” the dancer on the roof of the wagon exclaimed. “It’s huge! I had no idea you were this strong!”

“Same here,” Alphas chimed in. “I thought you were just some kindly matchmaking strangers! It seems I still have far to go. I’ll put myself to training at once!”

“That’s pushing it, man,” Alfyn smiled at him. “I’d recommend ya at least a week’s rest.”

“Aye-aye, doc,” Alphas nodded. “If it’s not too much trouble, perhaps I could ask you theatre folk for a lift back to S’warkii?”

“This tiger shallen be sent that way as well,” H’aanit said. “The hunters of mine village doe know howst to not letten his death be of waste.”

“It’s the least we could do”, the troupe leader said. “You’ve done us a great service! Kit was right to praise you, indeed.”

Olberic loaded the tiger corpse onto the wagon, and Cordelia helped Alphas to stand.

“Speaking of Kit,” Alfyn said. “Have ya heard anything from the kid? How’s he doing?”

Cordelia knew Kit had travelled with these people in a similar fashion to Cordelia for a few months, and it seemed like he’d made a lasting impression. Once Cordelia had met him herself, she realized that that kind smile and those eyes… He was not someone easily forgotten.

“He is well enough,” the troupe leader said. “He sent us a letter not too long ago. As you know, he’d gotten wind of a woman who knew about the whereabouts of his father, and as he wrote to us, he had just met her. She had violet hair and silver eyes—sounds like an exaggeration, but the kid does have a flair for the dramatic—and she had been very thrilled to meet him.”

“Ah,” Alphas said. “Violet hair? Silver eyes? I believe there is but one in this world with such complexion. I’d just heard rumors on the wind of lady Lybalc found her perfect man at last…what qualifies as such is a mystery to me.”

“I don’t know,” Tressa muttered. “She kept going on and on about blue eyes and fair hair. Bit of a shallow type, if you ask me.”

“I’m happy for her,” Alphas shrugged, his torn shoulder pad almost getting stuck in Cordelia’s hair. “But she does have strange habits. Last I heard, rumor had it that it seemed like she was headed to the land that was once known as the kingdom of—”

The troupe leader’s eyes widened, and they finished the sentence together with eerie precision.

“— _Hornburg_?”

Cyrus, who had been standing hunched over the tiger and examining it, snapped up his head in attention. Olberic turned around to face them all, his face grim.

“What?” Cordelia whispered, pulse hard in her throat. “What’s going on?”

“Fate is toying with us,” Alphas said, supporting himself on the wagon to stand upright.

“Stranger things than coincidences have happened before,” the troupe leader said nervously. “But that was exactly where Kit was headed with this woman, according to his letter. It would appear that the lady Lybalc you know… is the same lady he sought.”

“Woah, wait,” Tressa said and raised her hands. “Kit is just a kid! And Lybalc’s rambling about finding her perfect man? She’s way too old for him! That’s gross! Illegal!”

“Perhaps her intent is not of that sort,” Cyrus said breathlessly. “But still, something does not add up… Why Hornburg?”

“There is nothing left there but ruins”, Olberic mumbled, his eyes closed in solemn pain for a moment. “That, and I suppose…”

“…the Gate,” Primrose filled in for him.

“Allegedly,” Olberic added bitterly. “I myself have never seen proof of its location. But yes. The gate.”

“This just doesn’t sound good,” Alfyn said, and Ophilia clasped her hands tightly around her staff.

“Is there any trouble?” the troupe leader asked, clearly worried. “Is Kit in some sort of danger?”

“He might be,” Primrose said. “But we will handle it. Did the letter mention his whereabouts?”

“It was sent from Whispermill, is all I know.”

Ophilia’s mouth twitched a little, but Tressa slammed her fist in her hand. “All right! Then that’s where we must go.”

Cordelia expected objections, but almost everyone nodded. Everyone except her.

“That kid doesn’t deserve anything bad happening to him”, Alfyn agreed. “We’ll go and make sure he’s doing fine. You people just keep goin’ about your business, all right?”

They bid the troupe farewell, and Cyrus led the way with brisk steps. The West S’warkii trail led to the Flatlands if one kept along south of the Frostlands border, at least if Cordelia had memorized her maps correctly.

She followed them. She might have been wiser to go with the troupe and then find a guide back to Bolderfall, but the idea did not strike her until they were already an hour along.

Cordelia had never been to Whispermill—it was a very small town in the northeastern outskirts of the Flatlands, nothing particular about it. But she felt a weight in her chest when they walked, and Ophilia was oddly quiet, too.

“Who is this Lybalc?” Cordelia finally asked, hoping someone would answer.

“A really weird lady,” Therion answered tensely. “We bumped into her once or twice. Alphas had taken to following her across the world. She showed no interest in him and we found him in Saintsbridge when she’d refused him. He was pretty devastated.”

“Aesthetically, she has interesting traits,” Cyrus added. “Although I cannot share in Alphas’ distress, I can perhaps see why people would call her beautiful. She gave a powerful impression.”

“She looked at Ophilia all weird,” Tressa added. “And H’aanit and Alfyn too, right? Maybe she stares that way at everyone who’s blond. Ugh. Just imagining her looking at Noa like that. Gross. I don’t even know why it is gross, it just is.”

Primrose gave Tressa a hard stare. “She looks at them like some look at dancers. So yes, gross.”

She didn’t elaborate, and Cordelia didn’t want for her to. Tressa began to speak quietly to Olberic, and the others put their focus elsewhere as well.

Ophilia was still silent, her shoulders tense.

“I’m sure Kit is doing all right,” Cordelia whispered to her, but it rang pretty empty. Cordelia knew so little about everything that had happened before, and of what was happening now.

“Thank you,” Ophilia smiled, fiddling with her gloves. “I do worry about him, but I also dislike returning to Whispermill.”

“Is anything the matter with that town?”

Ophilia sighed through her nose. “You know I… lost the flame during the Kindling.” She shook her head. “My sister had been turned against me by a man of the church—his name was Mattias. I used to think he was a good man, but he was not. In the shadows of Whispermill, he had created a cult of heathens. Everyone in that town had been tempted by false promises, fuelled by bitterness against Aelfric’s church. Mattias claimed that it was the church’s greed and cruelty that had let their loved ones die in a plague a few years ago—that we could have prevented it, even brought those lost back to life if we had wanted.”

“That’s a lie,” Cordelia said. It was just stating the obvious—some sicknesses could not be cured, and death was never reversable.

Ophilia nodded. “I’m glad you know. But Whispermill was such a small town, isolated from the rest… They didn’t know that. They believed Mattias. He was a very persuasive man, and ultimately… My sister started to believe him, too.”

A flock of corvids cawed and took to the sky. Ophilia drew for a breath.

“She’s fine now, though,” Ophilia continued. “I am glad I could guide my sister away from him, and she’s in Whispermill now trying to undo the harm Matthias’ cult wrought… But a lot of the townspeople… were killed in a ritual.”

“This was the time you…took a life?”

“Yes. There was no other way to stop it, and while I saved the lives of a few and restored the Kindling Flame… Most of the townspeople did not rise. I grieve that I could not save them, too.”

“Are you truly fine with returning?”

“I am,” Ophilia answered. “I believe it shall be even easier if you are with me. The others are very good at doing the talking or fighting for me, but it’s not often that they just… Stay. Sometimes you just need someone to stand quietly beside you and share the burden of silence. If that makes sense.”

Cordelia had felt completely useless this entire time, but if Ophilia somehow appreciated that, that was good... albeit unexpected.

Cordelia looked up at the road. The woods had already turned to frost-covered mountains—they would only have to walk for another full day at this pace to reach Whispermill. The Flatlands was much smaller than the Darkwood, and for that Cordelia was grateful. Her feet ached, but she’d walk with these people until the end of the road.

“I’ll definitely stay with you,” she promised. “And I know what to do if anyone tries to spin lies about you, at least.”

“It sounds like you have first-hand experience.”

“I do, unfortunately. But that just means I can do _something_ for you.”

“You can do more than you realize,” Ophilia smiled. “But thank you, Cordelia.”


	3. Gate of Finis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cordelia was no one, but there was always something she could do._  
> 
> 
> The nine travelers venture forth after learning of Kit's assumed location. Sensing foul intentions after what they learned in the Ruins of Eld, they hurry onwards. And in doing so, they stand face to face with their fates.

No one slept that well that night. Cordelia watched the stars while listening to the others twisting and turning. The image of the _Fallen_ had printed onto her mind, and with everything else that was going on, she was simply… afraid. Who wouldn’t be?

They were all up early. Cordelia helped Tressa cook up some breakfast, and within half an hour, they were on the move again.

At noon, Cordelia saw a couple of mills dot the horizon, and a few hours after, they were in sight of the Whispermill.

“All right,” Cyrus recapitulated when they closed in. “Alfyn and I will split up and ask around in town, see if anyone’s heard anything. Ophilia, you go find your sister.”

“I’ll go down the road,” Primrose said. “With luck, we’ll meet someone who’s met them on their way south.”

“It’s quite a long way to Hornburg from here,” Olberic said. “They cannot have gotten far. We will catch up, and make sure there is no danger befalling Kit.”

Cordelia decided it was best if she did not get in the way. She stepped back, away from the road and as she did, she felt her hair frizzle and stand on end.

“What—” She turned around, and her head ached with sudden pain, like she was staring into the sun, except there was nothing out of the ordinary there. But the hairs on her left arm all stood up and bent as she moved towards it.

“Professor Albright... I believe there’s something here.”

Cordelia's first thought was that this was a remnant of that ritual Ophilia had mentioned, and that perhaps Cordelia would get the life sucked out of her right where she stood. But as Ophilia got closer and placed her hand against the empty air, a small light erupted without any visible harm.

Ophilia spread her fingers with a troubled frown, and between her fingers a different view formed, windows made by the transparent wings of a dragonfly. Cordelia caught glimpses of desolate rocks cast in red light…

“Look at that,” Cyrus said as he stepped closer, then walked around the small light in circles. “Hm. I’d suggest a change of plans. This… right here… I believe it is a portal.”

“ _Portal,_ ” Therion repeated sceptically, and Cyrus only nodded.

“I did not have much time in the accumulated forbidden library in the Ruins of Eld, but… That is what this must be. Only someone who has delved into those ruins themselves would be able to produce magic of this kind. See the distortion of space and how it interacts with human matter… I believe we have our answer as to where miss Lybalc has gone!”

“Then they’re already in Hornburg,” Ophilia said gravely.

“I believe so”, Cyrus agreed. “I’m afraid us running around Whispermill will not amount to much.”

“Is it not possible to usen the same route?” H’aanit asked. “I knowest not enough about witchcraft.”

“I wish you’d call it by a less negative connotation someday,” Cyrus huffed. “But you have a fair point! Indeed, it should be possible for me to crack the same hole in space using the traces Lybalc has left. Fascinating. To think that I would practice creating portals this day!”

“Less talking, old man,” Therion said with his teeth clenched. “Can you do it or not?”

“You always offer ultimatums,” Cyrus frowned. “But I believe I can. Stand back!”

He leaned forward, his hands grasping the air like he would a pair of curtains, then in a sudden movement, he ripped them apart. And the portal ripped open with it.

Right in the middle of the open plains was a window to a world of desolate rocks and overgrowth. Uneven shapes were erected at the top of the mountain—ruins of a village, Cordelia guessed with a shiver.

Cyrus looked up and brushed his chin with a proud smile. “Well, I’ll say… I would like to appreciate this moment a little bit more thoroughly, but we have our pressing matters to attend to before then. After me.”

One step into the portal, and Cyrus was gone. H’aanit followed fearlessly, and Primrose was not far behind. Olberic looked bemused, but followed suit.

“Well,” Tressa said. “Beats walking all the way to the Highlands. Last one inside is a total chicken. Bye!”

And with that, she hopped inside. Therion allowed himself to led by Alfyn’s hand on his shoulder.

“The things we do for this stupid kid”, Cordelia heard him mutter, but she had gotten to know him well enough to understand that it was him being worried.

When they walked through, Cordelia was left alone with Ophilia. The priestess had given her a long, thoughtful look throughout the entire exchange that Cordelia had pretended not to notice. She kept her eyes on the portal, and the stones that were tinted red by a looming sun.

“This portal leads to hell,” she said, not sure why she was so certain.

“Maybe,” Ophilia stated gently. “Do not feel obligated to follow us.”

“That’s all right,” Cordelia said. “Hell is where so many have whispered to me that I should go. And I have believed I will.”

Ophilia grasped her hand, a troubled dip in her brow. “Why?”

They had more pressing matters than this, but Ophilia still acted like Cordelia had said something important. She shouldn’t say anything else, she should just jump in like the rest…

“Because I have read the scriptures and had plenty of time to think for myself,” she said. “And is there not a story written in Aelfric’s name about how the overly rich could never be a true friend of the people? Even Bifelgan the Trader has ca clear code to what is fair and what is greedy. I have stepped over corpses to keep what my family has told me is mine. Not literally, but… I know there are good people who would not do what I did. Who would not hesitate to give everything away. People like you.”

Ophilia did not avert her gaze. She did not need to speak.

“It’s really not important,” Cordelia hastily added. “We should go.”

“We should, and I will be right with you,” Ophilia promised and reached her other hand to her. “And if this really is hell, I do not believe it could ever keep you.”

Cordelia held her hands, and for a moment they faced each other.

“I’m not afraid,” Cordelia lied.

“Good,” Ophilia said. “Because then neither am I.”

And with that, they stepped through the portal.

\---

Energy surged through Cordelia’s chest. When she put her feet down, it was as though she’d simply taken a single step, but Whispermill, the Flatlands—all of it was gone.

Instead she found herself in a world littered with broken weapons and torn banners that barely moved in the wind. Bones, too. And above her head, the clouds were covered by an eerie red belched out into the sky like smoke, coming from one of the mountains ahead.

The remainder of the group had assembled by the foot of the mountain, where a tent still stood, half-collapsed. Olberic was kneeling, massaging dirt between his fingers, and let the grains fall like they were precious pearls that had lost their value.

“It was here where he was struck down,” Olberic said solemnly. “King Alfred… my liege. It has been fifteen years, and his tent still stands…” Olberic looked up, noticed Ophilia and Cordelia, and got to his feet. “I’ve made my peace with the fact. I no longer wield my blade for his name. We’re all here and should not linger. Kit might need us.”

Without anyone saying so, they all walked together as Olberic led them toward the mountain that was the source of the pulsating red sky.

“The mountain did not look this way before,” Olberic said. Cordelia believed him, because _no_ mountain should ever look like this.

Once they walked round the bend where there was a dip in the mountain, Therion spotted a human.

“Down there”, he said and pointed. “That’s Lybalc!”

The quick descriptions of violet hair and silver eyes did not do Lybalc justice. She was like a reflection of diamonds gleaming in a pond, the tips of her hair ending in silver tips down her lower back. Even from a distance, her gaze looked indifferently toward them and shone like polished metal. Haunting, but beautiful still.

And behind her was a gaping hole in the mountain, two doors of stone adorned by thousands upon thousands of Hornburgian runes, open wide.

“I don’t see Kit anywhere,” Primrose said and clenched her fists. “Something’s wrong. I’ll go down there and confront Lybalc myself.”

“Thou wilst not go alone,” H’aanit said, and unsurprisingly, they all jogged down the slope together.

Lybalc was all the more haunting up close. Perhaps the gaping hole in the mountain added to it, where the fumes of sunset red still whirled into the sky like a vortex.

“Oh,” Lybalc purred as they got within earshot. “Here’s a familiar face or two. Fancy meeting you here. Did you use my portal? Rude.”

“You’re hardly the epitome of manners yourself,” Primrose said coldly.

“My,” Lybalc chuckled. “Harsh. I trust you’ve come for Kit, yes? He did speak fondly of you, for helping him find me… And I am very grateful as well, for leading him into my arms.”

“You’re obviously up to something nefarious,” Alfyn inquired, surprisingly calm. “Just show us the kid, and no one needs to get angry, all right? We just want him safe, is all.”

“I’m afraid I’m not willing to let him leave just yet,” Lybalc smiled. “He went inside, some time ago. Hours? Minutes? I do not care. I’ve been out here enjoying the sight of this lovely sky, but perhaps it is time to stop admiring it.”

She cocked her head. It was an unnatural angle. Too steep. Her eyes were too open, her smile too sharp. She was not like anyone Cordelia had ever seen.

“So tell me, blessed humans… Does the Gate of Finis frighten you? It is quite a sight.”

“We could care less about your stupid gate,” Therion frizzled. Linde had her furs on end as she growled in unison with him.

“I think what he means to say is that we won’t cause you any trouble if you yield,” Cyrus said. “We can talk this out—you probably don’t know what you’re doing. The Gate should not be handled lightly!”

“So stand down,” Olberic joined in.

“That’s cute,” Lybalc answered. “No thanks. I know full well what I’m doing, and I’ll go inside, now. I’d rather you did not interfere… That’s assuming you _could_ interfere, even if you wanted to. Pass beyond the Gate of Finis, and never again may you return to this world. Follow me if you so choose, but be certain it is truly the path you wish to thread. Because if you do… You will find nothing but death’s relief.”

She took one step, and at once, the gate seemed to scream.

“That’s Kit,” Ophilia gasped. “What—”

“Come back here, you—” Tressa darted forth, but Lybalc seemed to evaporate as the gate swallowed her, and immediately after, tranquillity ended.

A dozen demons crawled around the gate’s edges, hissing as they changed shape. Linde yowled and took a protective stance around H’aanit’s legs.

“Redeyes,” Olberic huffed. “Several of them.”

“Similar only,” H’aanit objected and one of them evaporated as she dug an arrow between its eyes. “Those aren not of the same beast we slayed. They’re weak.”

Cordelia was not so sure about the last statement, and once one of the unblinking demons swirled into the shape of _people_ , she could see even H’aanit wince.

One looming human-shaped demon reached its hand out toward Primrose, a pleasant smile on its face, eyes a bright and unnatural red.

“Simeon,” Primrose breathed. The hand that held her dagger trembled as she poised herself ready to fight. Cordelia had _never_ seen Primrose tremble.

The demon tilted its head, dark essence spreading from its body, while its lips mouthed words without sounds.

 _My love_ , Cordelia guessed, but with the condescending look in its eye, that did not seem like a tender thing to say. More like a taunt.

“To _hell_ with thee!” H’aanit cried and lodged an arrow in the demon’s eye. It melted into a puddle on the ground.

“To hell with him,” Primrose repeated breathlessly, but she kept her dagger high, as more demons took its place.

“Well,” Therion said with clenched teeth. “There’s no doubt that’s where we are, too.”

Cordelia squeaked as Olberic pulled her behind him, his sword raised.

“Therion,” Olberic barked. “On your left!”

Therion spun around on the spot, parrying the dark mass of a blade aimed for him. “I’ve got this,” he begun, this his eyes widened, and he hopped back.

“That’s just nasty,” he whispered, his knives still high. Cordelia tried to decipher the face of the demon that caused even Therion to retreat like that, but it looked the same as the rest. Although its hair was longer, and its grin wider—

Therion dodged again, but the demon followed through and managed to chip away at his cheek, drawing blood. Therion yelped.

“You’re such a _shitstain_ ,” Alfyn yelled and shattered the demon with the blunt edge of his axe.

“That’s so nasty,” Therion repeated breathlessly. “I mean, _Darius_ —? Does this mean he’s dead, or something? I didn’t kill him.”

“It looks like Lybalc just wants to mess with your head,” Alfyn said with narrow eyes. “Try not to think about it.”

Cordelia inched closer to them. Olberic was busy swinging his enormous sword at demons running down the slopes, and Therion held the safest spot at the moment.

And in this chaos, she felt Ophilia’s hand on her shoulder.

“Get down,” she said, and without thinking further, Cordelia obeyed.

In one breath, Ophilia fanned her staff toward the Gate, and the world went up in white flames. It was brief, but enough. Enough to clear them a path. Enough for them to breathe.

“What are they?” Cordelia asked. She could not keep the shrillness out of her voice.

“Demons,” Ophilia answered simply. “Apparitions. Ghosts. I don’t know. But H’aanit is right, they’re weak, like candle flames.”

“There’s bound to be more,” Primrose said, still a bit shaken.

“We could _technically_ still retreat,” Cyrus said. “But I would advise against it. The Gate of Finis is opened, just as the mural warned us of… I suppose we cannot run from the consequences. And so, I believe it is our solemn duty to make sure it closes again. Or it will bring enough destruction to justify a repetitious phrase written sixty-five times.”

“You have _such_ a weird way of saying ‘ _let’s go save the world_ ’,” Tressa sighed, and bit her lip. “But if we go in, we really can’t go back? I’m just…”

She glanced over at Cordelia.

“Noa will understand,” Cordelia tried to comfort her.

Tressa laughed humorlessly. “How could she? I wouldn’t guess anything _close_ to this if Noa up and disappeared.”

“She has a very vivid imagination,” Cordelia said. “Don’t underestimate her. She’ll understand.”

Tressa hugged her. It was very sudden, but not awkward. “Thanks, Cordy. If you at least see her again…tell her, won’t you?”

Cordelia nodded. She realized with terrifying clarity that Tressa, who had also not yet reached twenty, was preparing to walk into the jaws of death. Like it was the obvious thing to do.

 _I’ve walked over corpses to stay in power_ , she thought. _But what right do I have to go back to that… when people like them sacrifice everything?_

H’aanit, Primrose and Olberic had stepped closer to the gate, and with them, a few more shapeshifting demons sprang forth. They were dealt with before Cordelia could blink, with two flashes of Primrose’s throwing knives and the thrum of a bowstring.

“Not to pressure you,” Primrose shouted back at them. “But we’re going in, and whenever you’re ready to help—ah, damn it, just get over here!"

Cyrus and Tressa gave an almost synchronized determined nod, and darted in to join the fight, magic blazing.

Alfyn sighed through his nose, then shrugged and rested his arm on Therion’s shoulders. “You wanna go?”

“It’s something worth fighting for,” Therion answered. “Especially if you’re there.”

“Heh,” Alfyn chuckled and kissed him on the forehead. “I knew you’d say that.”

And then they rushed in too. They were the first to be swallowed by the gate, connected by the hands. Primrose pulled her dagger free from a demon and met H’aanit’s gaze. In the next moment, they too had skipped into the unfathomable red void of the gate.

Cordelia could not feel her legs. She stood rooted in place as Ophilia blasted a demon with another set of luminescent magic.

“You’ll go too,” Cordelia stated. It was not a question. It had been a tumultuous few months, but she felt like she knew them all well enough to realize that this was not optional.

“I will,” Ophilia answered. “That void is another godless place, but I carry with me the mission of Aelfric wherever I go, and I cannot turn my back when his work is about to become undone. You’ll stay here, though. Someone would need to tell those we love of our fate.”

Perhaps that was where it would make the most sense for Cordelia to be. But she imagined herself to knock on the door to Alfyn’s best friend that he spoke so dearly of, and the door to Ophilia’s sister who was her only living relative and who would be alone in the world, and to the University where all of Cyrus’ students resided, the village Olberic called home and guarded with his life… And finally, to Noa.

What weight would the word of a stranger carry, with such a mad story to tell? Even Noa would not believe her. So why would it matter?

And she looked into the gate and its horrible fumes, then moved her gaze to Ophilia, and realized that she would never see her again. This would be the last. No more of her soft hand holding hers, guiding her. No letters, no future. How did it go so quickly from ‘ _gifting a piece of lapis lazuli’_ to ‘ _save the world from impending doom_ ’?

It was not fair, but life had never been. Unless one made it so. Unless one let go of selfishness.

“I will not stay behind,” Cordelia said. “I will come with you, and make sure you are protected. There’s magic in my bloodline—I think if it will awaken, now would be the time. And I will not turn my back on the world, either. I’m here, and I will help.”

Ophilia regarded her for the duration of a heartbeat, then nodded slowly. “I understand. Then let us go forth.”

They ran toward the gate together.

As soon as her feet reached the stone staircase, everything grew quiet. Darkness pressed against Cordelia’s temples again, even as Ophilia ignited her light. She squinted into the void, tried to figure out what was up and down, and finding it didn't matter. The stairs ascending toward the depths were similar to that of the Ruins of Eld, which was the opposite of a comforting familiarity. Perhaps this place was built by the same hands.

“Fascinating,” Cyrus said and brushed his fingers against the wall, no doubt having noticed the same.

“We’re facing certain doom,” Olberic said. “And yet you find your curiosity intact! You never cease to impress me, professor.”

Cyrus preened slightly at the praise. “The scholarly art never rests, so neither will I.”

“Me neither,” Tressa said, pumping her fists in the air. “I mean, I don’t care about stairs, but let’s show the dark god he messed with the wrong lot, get Kit out of here and close that stupid gate already!”

The response was not an energetic one, but rather quiet and all the more determined. Alfyn and Therion still held hands. Primrose and H’aanit as well. Neither of them had anything left to lose, and there was obviously no point in hiding when so little time might remain. Cordelia could not be jealous, but the thought that she would probably never know that which she longed for caused her chest to ache.

They walked up the stairs together in complementary silence. Demons hissed at them, but Ophilia walked with her staff held high, and they did not attempt to come near.

They feared that brightness, the same brightness of Aelfric—and perhaps they feared the rest of them too. They held skills that the gods valued. Skills used to seal the thirteenth, according to legend. _Blessed ones_ , Lybalc had called them.

 _Lybalc_. Cordelia angled her face upward. The stairs were somehow both leading _up_ and _down_ —they were no doubt ascending, but the feeling was that she walked deeper and deeper underground. It ended on a platform of red bedrock, within her sight—and Lybalc awaited them.

“Quite the stubborn ones, aren’t we,” Lybalc smiled as they stepped onto the platform, shot out like a tongue over an endless abyss.

Cordelia’s eyes darted all over the place. It was not a room, not a cave—there were walls and a flickering light at the center, but there also seemed to be… nothing. Not even darkness.

And no Kit.

“Where’s the kid?” Therion snapped, his hands clenched. “You’d better talk, because we have you cornered.”

Lybalc’s silver eyes gleamed. “Kit? Why, I told you, he’s right here.”

She snapped her fingers, and the light inside the abyss swirled like flames of violet, silver and red, and one great eye opened to stare at them.

“The thirteenth god,” Lybalc said, her head bent in solemn serenity. “He and Kit are one and the same…”

“Like hell,” Therion hissed.

“I was born a few millennia ago,” Lybalc said calmly. “I was made from a piece of Galdera’s heart, you see. I am a part of him, but I am not enough to unseal him. I have tried to use my connection, my body and spirit…to no avail.”

The eye kept staring at them, unblinking. Cordelia could not escape its gaze, even when she dug her eyes into the ground for all that she was worth.

“The Gate of Finis was created to seal Galdera beyond the boundaries of your world,” Lybalc continued. “It constrained him to this awful place between life and death. A cruel thing indeed, but about a hundred years ago, I learned that pieces of Galdera remained in the very Crossford family that sealed him. The Crossford line is more ancient than any gate or kingdom, and it has continued to carry the stuff of the Dark God within them…”

“So Kit was a seamless sacrifice brought right to the source,” Cyrus mumbled. “Nothing that the forbidden tomes mentioned, but of course that would work.”

Lybalc fanned her arm toward Cyrus. “Someone clearly has the wits to appreciate all my toils. But it was not so simple as all that—I’ve been attempting this for the better part of a century…The Hornburgian legacy complicated things for certain, but I needed only start a civil war to get them out of the way. I hear you encountered my friend Werner, correct? Ah, and sweet Matthias, the things he believed… Possessing Aelfric wasn’t a bad idea per se, but it was folly in execution.”

Ophilia drew a sharp breath through her nose, her hold on the staff unyielding.

“With Hornburg gone, the Gate was free for me to tear open… As soon as I had my hands on the necessary ingredients, of course. Although that meant nothing more complicated than arranging for a noble family’s death, maybe a few others followed—humans are unpredictable, after all.”

Now Cordelia’s chest ached even worse, and tears welled in her eyes without her having any control over it.

“Many years ago, I led Graham—Kit’s father—to this same place.” Lybalc glanced back on the eye, almost nostalgically. “I told Graham that by coming here he could return his beloved to the land of the living. A lie, of course, but one he was all too willing to believe. All was proceeding to plan. But in the end, I underestimated the strength of the man’s spirit. The ritual failed, and Graham escaped somewhere… Although he hardly resembled himself anymore. Well, his son was young, and weak, and so easily fooled…“

“You’ve talked enough!” Tressa shouted. “Step aside and let us bring Kit home! Or else!”

“Did you not hear me, child?” Lybalc sniffed. “You have Kit right there, in all his glory. You see, this time will be different. This time, I will not fail. At long last, Galdera shall rise again, and all the world will be his! And you have an important role here, too. Your blood, your lives shall feed him and give him strength, just as I will.”

“What the heck’s that supposed to mean?” Therion whispered under his breath, just as Lybalc turned her face toward the unblinking eye.

“Father, can you hear me? Father, your daughter calls out to you!”

**_I hear you… My daughter._ **

Cordelia’s blood chilled. _Galdera._ Speaking to them. His voice was like the rumble of Cliftlands rockfall, and Cordelia had never felt so small.

“Oh father…” Lybalc’s laughter was frantic, and the flames of Galdera reflected in the silver tips of her hair. “At last, we’re together again!”

**_My daughter… you did… what you were meant to do… For fulfilling your fate… I bestow upon you… eternal slumber._ **

“I accept,” Lybalc said and extended her arms as though meaning to embrace him. “Thank you, Father.”

The eye grew yet larger, surrounded by an unyielding movement violet and red, the synchronized chaos of a flock of birds. In a sudden swish of fire, Lybalc was gone, like she'd never existed at all.

A drawn-out screech drilled into Cordelia's ears, but she could not move to cover them. She was rooted to the ground, even knowing the flames would consume her if it wasn't for Ophelia's steadfast pulse of light pushing them away. The hiss of fire looked as though it would grow to fill even the bottomless void, but it shrunk back into something shaped like a human... or the mockery of one. Galdera, his image captured by ancient ruins just a pale imitation of the beast that now sprouted arms, a head, a _face_. From nearly every spot of his flaming skin portruded unblinking eyes, the spaces left between them squirming with desperate grasping arms of their own.

Deep inside the most prominent eye at the center of the beast's chest, a tiny human body floated, still with a bright blue cloak intact.

“He looks pretty dead,” Alfyn said, and how he could sound so calm was beyond Cordelia. “Dammit, kid… That really sucks.”

“Now what?” Tressa asked with a nervous look on Ophilia. The others looked to her as well, and the gentle smile on her face was no more. She arced her neck to look at Galdera with bitter determination.

“We fight him”, she said. “The Twelve did so once before. We can do it again. He is not almighty.”

 ** _Nor evil_** **,** the slumbering voice of Galdera answered. ** _Brave souls... You have earned the same reward as my daughter... So come... let us consume all life... let us consume the Gods themselves... For now and eternity... there is only Us. There is only Galdera!_**

“Sounds pretty evil to me,” Alfyn said, as calmly as before but with undeniable fury in his stance. “Just cuz’ you’re neutral about it doesn’t mean it’s less bad to consume all life, man. Plus, you just killed a perfectly healthy kid!”

The eye stared at him silently, his body growing evermore.

“I don’t think he’s interested in pleasantries,” Therion muttered.

“Neither am I,” Alfyn huffed in response, arcing his neck and drumming his fingers on his axe. “I just wanted to make things clear to the bastard. He’s going down, and he’s deserving it!”

The beast was massive enough to fill the space that had seemed infinite before, and it attempted a slow movement of its head. The squirming arms popped all at once, shrieking souls growing heads and torsos of their own, still glued to flaming skin. Their wordless cries added to the noise of the fire, thousands of hands outstretched as in search of salvation. The shrill abominations were hairless, naked, corroded—but one stood apart, spouted from the top of Galdera's head. It had violet hair flying like a banner tipped with silver, and there was no mistaking who it had once been.

Lybalc did not writhe like the others, she hung slack. Was that eternal slumber, to not despair even in the all-consuming entity? What did that make the other bodies – the failed sacrifices? People of Whispermill, of Quarrycrest, of places so ancient their names had been lost to time—?

“I fail to appraise the weakness of this beast,” H’aanit said, her bow drawn but still hesitant. “I knowst not how to trap it.”

Cordelia looked into the prominent middle eye, the protrusion of Lybalc, and how the rest of the body seemed to pulsate and grow out _from_ them. There needed to be a source, even for godly power.

“Perhaps there needs to be more than one way,” Cordelia said, trying to push back at the tremble in her voice. “If at least Kit is out of there and _he_ is the sacrifice, wouldn’t that render the rest of Galdera powerless? And Lybalc, if she is of his relation as well, right—?”

“It’s best to focus our attacks, I agree,” Ophilia said. “I’ll bring all the power of the Flame I can muster to the eye. If we can destroy it and Lybalc, that’s our best chance.”

“We need to split up,” Primrose said and pointed up against the wall to the right of them. “There’s a flat piece of rock up there near the face, where we could reach Lybalc’s body—who’re the best climbers?”

“I am,” Therion answered. “I might need some backup, though.”

“Like you need to ask.” Alfyn shoved his axe in his belt and fished out a packet of chalk from his satchel, dusting his hands and handing the packet to Therion.

“I volunteer as well,” Olberic said and reached his hand out for the chalk. Without a second look at the screeching corpses and raging flames, they began their ascent up the trembling stone wall.

“If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well be extra about it,” Tressa said, caught another packet that Alfyn threw down at her, chalked her hands and jumped onto the wall.

Cordelia cramped her fists together, desperately searching for whatever magic she might hold within. She had tried this many times before, in her childhood mostly, but yielded nothing. Although she had to try; if she could not fight, what use was she?

The eye narrowed and lightning shot out toward the climbers, but Ophilia reflected it with an arc of her staff, without even moving her face.

“No more time for strategizing,” Primrose shouted. “Let’s break that eye! I can still reach the wisps through my dances—I’ll have them strengthen you.”

“And I know enough light magic to bring him pain,” Cyrus said. “It shall be you and I, Sister Ophilia.”

Ophilia nodded, her staff ignited all the way from the base to the top.

Cordelia was just about to open her mouth and ask what she would do, but thought better of it. She glanced back on the climbers. They had gotten almost halfway to the safety of the platform, and the eye was busy aiming its furious lightning at Primrose, who practically danced out of the way, the wisps of Sealticge’s magic swirling around her ankles.

Cordelia tried to ready herself to dodge as well (she had little hope of making it as seamlessly as Primrose did, she realized that, but still). A hundred eyes stared at her, some belonging to the protruding corpses, most not. She could only stare back.

She noticed how one of the bodies began to move more strangely. Crackles of magic sparked around the corpse, its eyes set on the _climbers_.

“H’aanit”, Cordelia gasped and pointed. “Top left!”

The moment after the words left her, an arrow whirred through the air and whacked into the head of the corpse, and it turned as slack as Lybalc. Cordelia exhaled, her gaze moving over the ungodly shape more easily now that she had something to look for. A crackle of magic, a bolt of light, anything that would interrupt the perilous journey up the wall—

“There,” Cordelia cried again. “By the right knee!”

H’aanit had sent another arrow toward the face of Galdera, but was quick to adjust, drawing and aiming in the same movement. Cordelia scanned the writhing arms for any signs of change, determined not to miss anything.

Therion had helped her. She could not stand the thought of him—of either of them—plummeting down into the abyss.

She might not be able to fight at the moment, but perhaps she _could_ help.

“I shalle protect oure friends,” H’aanit shouted at Cyrus, Ophilia and Primrose, then momentarily turned to her animal companion. “Linde, thou keepest watch over our backs, lest demons cometh from the stairs.”

Linde had somehow not yet panicked—both the people and the animals of the Woodlands were made of sturdier stuff than most. She yowled in response to H’aanit’s order and hopped down a few steps of the stairs, growling toward the darkness.

“Cordelia,” H’aanit continued. “Be mine eyes. It appearen two pairs aren better than one.”

Cordelia could only give a nod. She clenched her hands into the fabric of her tunic to steady herself, her gaze darting over the myriad of terrified souls screaming and squirming.

It was like focusing on a single ant on an anthill, but whenever they channelled magic, Cordelia would spot them before they could fling it toward the stone wall.

The many eyes glared to and fro, and what Cordelia would guess functioned as an arm began to move. Toward the wall. Galdera intended to wipe the climbers away himself. An arrow could not stop that.

“Let’s give him something else to focus on,” Primrose shouted. “Cyrus!”

Cordelia had not really seen Primrose’s magic at work before. Skilled dancers could charm and draw essence from wisps, Cordelia had read about such things… But seeing it for herself was another thing. The wisps shot form the ground with a shine like the rainbow and crawled over Primrose’s skin in tune with her impeccable movements. The bright colors of the wisps darted over to Cyrus when Primrose touched his arm.

“Just what I would suggest,” Cyrus answered, and his voice seemed larger than life with the wisps coursing through his veins. With his incantation, the essence of the wisps sparked out of him like a spring river giving way through winter ice.

The blast of light was blinding, but Cordelia only shielded her eyes for a moment before she once again looked through the myriad of bodies in search of those who would harm her friends. She had one use in this fight. She would not stop.

Galdera’s arm fell to his side in a howl of pain. A piece of the eye had broken, where Kit’s arm had fallen out and now hung limply as unidentifiable liquid ran like tears down his sleeve.

Galdera’s retaliation was immediate. Violet darkness thundered toward them. H’aanit managed to grab hold of Primrose, and dragged her closer.

Ophilia trembled, her shining staff materializing into a wall of reflection and protection against magic. Wave after wave of violet darkness rumbling into the shield. The ground quaked, but Ophilia’s shield held fast even after the last wave had passed.

“Bottom right,” Cordelia gasped and pointed. H’aanit let go of Primrose and sent another arrow flying. Galdera did not pause to breathe, so they could not either.

A mere arm’s length away, she could hear Ophilia’s prayer. It was less poetry now, but still beautiful somehow.

_Aelfric, Bringer of the Flame, the one who sheds light even in the darkest corners—so too is this realm within your reach, and I ask, I beg, I plead, bring us your light, shield our lives—the flame, protect us—!_

The protective veil around them burned, a thin sheet of blue flame. Galdera echoed words, some of them in a language Cordelia did not understand.

**_Aelfric… Have you not… Done enough? Accept… your fate… and die!_ **

Galdera’s own flames of violet thrashed against Ophilia’s shield, and it shuddered. Cyrus went on the offensive yet again, but had to stumble back. Galdera aimed his arm toward them, intending to crush them.

Not even Aelfric’s protection could hold against that. Ophilia was but a human carrying his blessing, and nothing like the god himself. The shield thrummed Galdera’s hand backwards and he recoiled, but the sheer force shattered the shield. A piece of glass beneath a hammer.

Ophilia let out a terrified shriek unlike any sound Cordelia had heard her make.

Cordelia held her breath, near panic—but she kept her eyes on the stone wall, on the bodies…

“The climbers are safe,” she shouted out into the chaos. “They made it!”

“We just have to hold out,” Primrose shouted back, drawing bright green wisps from the earth below. “Come on, Ophilia, you can do this—”

The light from Ophilia’s staff was weaker, but in a determined arc, she managed to produce a second shield just before another blast of darkness hit.

H’aanit released an arrow that lodged itself into the eyeball, which did not seem to do much, at least not compared to the angry roars in response to Cyrus’ sixth retaliation of light magic.

The eye had grown wide and bloodshot.

**_Stop this! You have no… chance…!_ **

He was undoubtedly furious. It could have been a good sign, that they were _actually_ pushing back against him, but they were just humans. Tired and worn.

When Galdera let loose everything he had left to give, his magic smattered against the shield like drumbeats.

Cordelia cowered with the rest. There was no opening for them to attack now, but the eye was falling apart.

The rest of their party had begun to focus their attacks on Lybalc. She saw Olberic literally climbing on some of the corpses that clawed on his skin, sword drawn and so, so close to Lybalc’s neck.

They just needed to hold out for a few more moments. If both Lybalc and the eye were destroyed, then surely…?

The shield broke.

The blasts of magic showed no signs of stopping. It was on its way toward the flickering light of Ophilia’s staff with a vengeance.

And Cordelia abandoned her other mission.

Cordelia was no one, but there was always _something_ she could do. And while there were different kinds of courage, she did not possess any that would change the world. She was not like them, the ones who could stand tall facing even gods, but she would rather they live. She would rather know Ophilia remained in the world than her.

It was not that Cordelia wanted to die. She had fought to stay alive for many years. But when noxious darkness raged toward them, she was not going to stand helplessly by.

She pulled Ophilia back, stumbled in front of her and braced her arms.

Cordelia had bathed in the sea a few times. Noa had been sitting on the beach egging her on to try and stay standing when the waves crashed into her. They had laughed when Cordelia toppled over by the sheer force, her wet hair sticking to her face. It was ridiculous to think one small human could withstand the casual might of the ocean.

The darkness crashed into her just like one of those waves. Except worse. Obviously, worse.

She saw no more lights, heard no more yells, but she felt the ground quake.

She did not wonder if Ophilia had made it. If Cordelia’s impulse had even helped. She just lay there, dazed completely out of her wits, not hating it, but not at peace either.

At least she did not hurt. But the ground kept quaking, her body hurled off the ground and… soothed. The sensation of a flute playing a soft tune, or snow melting on charred skin, of endless white sky dotted by winter blooms. Blooms that swirled into her mind, spoke to her with her father’s voice.

 _Cordelia_ , he said. _The house of Ravus is blessed with many treasures—and many who covet them. To one born into our house, such things are as natural and given as the blue of the sky above us. We are blessed with great resources, and it is our duty to protect them from those who would use them for ill. And among all the treasures, there are none greater than the Dragonstones. Please remember that, my dear._

The words felt familiar. She was certain she had heard him speak them once, but eleven years shrouded such memories no matter how hard she tried to pin them down.

It was not like it mattered. She was either dying or dead. She listened attentively, without question.

 _The Dragonstones were bestowed upon the first Lord Ravus by the legendary_ _King_ _Beowulf the First of Hornburg, and they have been passed down in our family ever since._

That was new to Cordelia. She had never heard him say such things.

It could not be a memory.

_My mother told me of the great sorcerer Odin Crossford, who used the power of the Dragonstones to seal the gate that keeps us safe... The gate between the nameless oblivion where Galdera resides and our worlds, the worlds of the living and dead... But a simple seal would never be enough._ _Crossford campaigned together with King Beowulf and aided him in the founding of Hornburg, a kingdom meant to keep the knowledge of the gate protected. A fine tale, I first thought, but it holds a secret only our family knows._ _King Beowulf entrusted the stones to the man he relied on above all others: the loyal knight who would become the first lord of House Ravus._

_I_ _t is the duty of our house to keep the Dragonstones safe, and protect them from those who would wield them for dark ends._

Cordelia tried to look at him, but she had no eyes to see. She felt his presence though, sure as a memory—no, surer than that. She could not speak. Could not feel her heart beating. But she knew that he was there with her.

He was real. There were winter blossoms all around her, sprouting out of the earth that she could not see.

 _Cordelia… Great power can bring about boundless good, or unfathomable evil, but power in its own right will always awaken a hunger in others who would claim it for themselves_ , her father’s voice continued. _Even kith and kin cannot be trusted to stand against such temptation. It may be that those who sabotaged the carriage my wife and I were riding in...did so at the bidding of my own blood. I will not spite them for what was done, but it was a sad thing to not watch you grow._

She felt a hand brush her head. The blossoms let their petals fall.

_Cordelia, I can protect you no longer. Yet this I hope you know; though a time may come when you are betrayed by ones you trust, I believe your heart will not falter. You will not lose your faith in people, and this is for the best. For there are those truly worthy of your unwavering trust, and you will find them and keep them close at your side._

_I held onto such faith, and I was rewarded with a loyal companion worth a thousand other men. Heathcote has been true to me in all things. Surely such a friend will also appear before you, one worthy of your faith._

_And so I beg of you, Cordelia: never stop believing in others, for it is this faith that will save you in the end... Live for yourself, my daughter, and know that whatever you choose, you will make us proud._

Cordelia could not answer him. She did not know how. She was behind a gate between worlds, the God of Death not a rock’s throw away... Her father had found her in this in-between, and she could not answer.

It was not a connection meant to last. Cordelia could feel that she was still alive, and that the gentle sound of a flute and specks of snow was calling her back, begging her to stop hovering on death’s doorstep.

When she set her mind to something, she should just do it. She had a tendency to pick up books on a whim and then putting them down, making plans that she’d never put to pen—but now she set her mind on this. That she should awaken.

\---

When Cordelia opened her eyes, the ground had stopped moving.

Dust swirled in the air, where the red tint was gone. Instead there was warm firelight flickering on the walls, and voices had slowly begun to reach her.

“Why’s it always harder to go _down_?” Tressa shouted shrilly. “Just hold on there! I’m coming!”

Cordelia tilted her head. It lolled a little, and it was uncomfortable to not be in control, but she was at least alive. And by the sounds of it, so was Tressa… And a black glove moved to brush away parts of Cordelia’s hair from her face, which meant Ophilia was all right… And not soon after, Therion’s face popped into her vision.

“She okay?”

Therion was worried about _her_ , this time. In any other situation, she would have found it heart-warming, but now she could barely stop seeing double.

“…I am,” she answered, more of a slur than speech, but she never wanted to not let anyone ever speak of her in third person. If she was not yet dead, she still spoke for herself.

“Of all the people I’d _never_ expect to do something stupid,” Therion frowned down at her. “What happened?”

“Therion, please,” Ophilia said. “Just get Alfyn to come here, if he’s not terribly busy.”

Therion pulled a hand through his hair, nervously, and glanced back toward the wall.

“Alfyn’s on his way—he’s pulled Olberic from the brink of death at least twenty times in just a few minutes,” he answered. “The old man’s like one of those walking corpses at this point.”

“Am not,” Olberic objected weakly. “I feel fine.”

Cordelia relaxed her neck so she could see behind her, where Olberic had scrambled down from the wall. His face and neck were both covered in salve (put on burns made of both fire and lightning by the looks of it), and both his hands were bandaged and drowned in white chalky powder. His padded armor discarded and his chest and back pulled together by makeshift stitches. It was a wonder he had even made it back down the wall, for one thing.

Alfyn came down the wall after him, resting his hands on his knees, chest heaving.

“Be there… in a sec, Cordy,” he panted and waved aimlessly toward the others on the lower platform. “Hey, H’aanit… is Primrose okay?”

There was no answer, but Alfyn was not rushing over there; he had probably been given an affirmative gesture of some kind.

Cordelia turned her head away and looked to the face that still remained above hers, swaying and blurry... Ophilia.

“Galdera…” she whispered. “Is he… gone?”

“Returned to the seal behind the darkness,” Ophilia answered, adjusting her hold on Cordelia. “Olberic hacked the head off the snake.”

“Do not credit me only,” Olberic said with a strained sigh and sat down beside them with joints that popped worryingly. “I could not have done so without the others.”

Therion wiggled his fingers, without smiling. “Yeah, team effort. I ran out of throwing knives. Stole Alfyn’s axe and threw that.”

“Dammit Therion,” Alfyn huffed. “How many times…? It’s… not stealing… when I _give_ stuff…!”

He had caught his breath somewhat, though Cordelia was in no hurry for him to come over. She was not in pain, she felt… fine. The sensation of music and snow remained with Ophilia’s touch. Was this what magical healing felt like?

“Team effort,” Olberic chuckled grimly. “Indeed. And considering what transpired here below, we could not have done this without you either, miss Ravus. Priestess Ophilia shattered the final piece of the eye.”

“And I will forever remember the curses Galdera threw around,” Therion added. “Interesting choice for dying words, is all I have to say about it.”

Ophilia’s expression did not change. She cradled Cordelia, her gaze steadfast at Alfyn, waiting for him to come over.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” Cordelia mumbled. “I’m glad… I could do something.”

“But I swore I would not see you hurt,” Ophilia answered, her gentle eyes sparked with frustration as they darted to Cordelia’s. “And yet you’d shield me like you did. Why?”

“Because… I wanted to help… by staying.”

Her father’s words still felt fresh in her mind. She had found those she believed in, and one above of all.

Someone else knelt beside them, and a coarse hand prodded her scalp.

“Apologies, miss Cordelia,” Alfyn said. “Just checking if ya hit your head or anything… I can’t do much about magic damage, I’m afraid… but that’s what Phili does best! I’m gonna poke at your face a little, if that’s all right with ya?”

Cordelia nodded, and let him examine her. She felt all right, still. Surprisingly all right. One blast of magic from one of the strongest gods… It should have outright killed her on the spot, but perhaps there was enough magic in her to withstand it. Nothing she could use like Ophilia or Cyrus or Tressa or Primrose, but she still breathed thanks to it.

“You’re golden,” Alfyn finished, let go of her face and patted her hand. “Moving on—how’re you doing, Phili?”

“Quite well,” Ophilia said. “All things considered.”

“Guess I’ll trust you on that for now,” Alfyn said and got to standing. “I’ll be… back to check on ya.”

He moved on toward Primrose. Cordelia could not help but notice that he himself limped slightly, and his breaths were still heavy. He had to be hurt as well, but he was healthy enough to walk, so it was probably fine.

She was probably fine, too. She felt stronger knowing there wasn’t something obviously physically wrong with her, and so she prodded herself up to sitting on her own. Ophilia’s hands stayed on her back as support.

The others had been hit by the magical blast just as much as Cordelia had—but they were all tougher than most.

Cyrus’ elegant forelocks were burned to fringes, but he looked healthy in every other way. He sat crouched by the far edge of the altar on the platform, examining sludge-like remains of Galdera’s physical form while tapping his chin. Primrose sat with her head leaned on H’aanit’s shoulder, and they both spoke to Alfyn in low voices.

Everyone was fine. They’d made it.

Cordelia heard a huff from behind her, and Tressa pulled herself over and collapsed on the stone floor with an exhausted sigh.

“That’s the last time I climb stuff,” she said. “New experiences make you richer, they say, but I dunno about that… I would have liked to brag about this to Ali, but I guess that’s not gonna happen, with one-way-doors and all that.”

The morbidity of it did not feel out of place exactly, but Cordelia wished Tressa had not spoken.

 _Pass beyond the Gate of Finis, and never again may you return to this world._ Lybalc had looked so pleased with herself when she spoke. So confident that no matter what they did, they could not win.

No one spoke. Linde, who purred and curled around H’aanit, was the only sound apart from the desolate howls of the abyss.

“So, now what?” Tressa finally broke the silence, sitting upright. “We stay here until we starve to death?”

“I for one would appreciate some more quiet breathing room before I answer that,” Therion sighed.

“At least the company won’t be boring—” Tressa begun with a small smile, before she shrieked and pulled herself backwards. “Ah—Cyrus, stop that! It’s _moving_!”

Cordelia whipped her head around so fast she got dizzy, her gaze swaying over the altar.

Cyrus had prodded Galdera’s remains with the back of his staff, and Tressa spoke truly—it really did writhe and thrash about.

Ophilia got to standing, and in doing so she took Cordelia with her. Cordelia stumbled to stand on her own while her heart hammered in her chest, tears rising. It was not fair, they could not survive _another_ fight like that—

An arm squeezed through some of the remains. It was not a corroded demon nor one dotted by prominent eyes, but a piece of a bloodstained blue sleeve—and a heavily breathing boy followed the arm, struggling to get free. He fell with a wet thud to the stone floor, stared at them with eyes so bright and blue, it was like staring into the sun.

“Kid!” Alfyn cheered and got to standing, and limped to Kit’s side immediately after, helping him up.

“It’s you,” Kit gasped, staring wide-eyed at Alfyn and then around the void. “Where… am I?” His gaze settled on the drooping red and violet goo running clinging to his skin, and he looked pale as a ghost. “Wait… I know. Lybalc—is she here?”

There was a panic to his voice, but he still looked as collected as anyone could demand of someone spit out from the corpse of a god.

“We’ve assumed her dead,” Alfyn said. “But on the other hand, we assumed the same of you. She said she’d sacrificed you, after all.”

“That’s true,” Kit answered politely. “I should have realized… she was lying. Well, she did speak truly in that I’d meet my father here. I did.”

“And we’re all very happy for you,” Therion snapped, although he sounded like anything but. Tired, like the rest of them.

“Thank you,” Kit said, despite the harsh tone. “And thank you, all of you… You’ve helped me, time and time again. My stubbornness nearly… ruined the world as we know it. I could not have known about my family legacy, nor could my father… But I know his fate, now. He was brought here by Lybalc… I am very proud of him to break free of the ritual…and grateful to you, for bringing him to rest.”

“Pretty sure _we_ didn’t kill your dad,” Alfyn said, but Cordelia noticed how H’aanit arced an eyebrow. Like she realized something the others didn’t—whatever it was, she did not seem willing to share.

“The veil between life and death is thinner here,” Kit said and turned his gaze toward the abyss. “My father spoke to me… and he has wished for me to live on without him. And that’s what I intend to do.”

“Well, there’s not much of a life to build in a place like this,” Tressa said. “But hey, if we could learn to cultivate some of those mushrooms, perhaps we could make something of this place.”

“Your optimism is making me sick,” Therion muttered. “But sure, it’s better than death.”

“Why would we stay here?” Kit frowned. “I’m sorry, have I missed anything?”

“Plenty,” Olberic said. “I know not what she told you, but to us, the Lady Lybalc said—”

“She said we’d never be able to leave,” Primrose cut in. “But that woman has lied about a lot of things. I for one don’t care to simply sit around _without_ trying to prove her wrong.”

“So…” Ophilia asked shakily. “You suggest…we just walk?”

“Lybalc has obviously been able to pass through here more than once,” Primrose argued.

Cordelia frowned. “Wouldn’t there be… another portal, perhaps?”

Cyrus had stood quietly, examining a thin sheet of skin, but looked up with a smile when Cordelia spoke. “You have a keen mind, miss Ravus! Apologies for my distraction, this specimen of organic matter is of quite a fascinating kind.”

“And it’s going into the abyss,” Primrose said with a stern finger raised when Cyrus opened his mouth. “ _No_ protesting. If Kit’s alive, Lybalc might wake up too, and I’d rather she’d do that in a bottomless pit where she cannot overthrow any more kingdoms or sacrifice any more kids.”

“I see your point,” Cyrus sighed. “But suppose I put some of it in an empty jar—?”

“No,” Ophilia said coldly. “Professor, if we are able to go back, we are _not_ bringing essence from Galdera with us home. That is where I draw a line!”

Cyrus hung his head for a moment, then just as quickly, he straightened with a slight smile. “Well, there are discoveries waiting to be made that would rival even this one, I’m sure! Sulking won’t bring them about!”

He pushed the remains with his staff, and it fell soundlessly down through the void.

“Thank you, professor,” Ophilia sighed. “Please. After you.”

Cyrus adjusted his collar. “The most logical place for a portal to be would be down the stairs, by the Gate itself—fret not! Recreating another portal is a simple matter when considered comparatively, is that not so?”

He chuckled to himself and took to the front, marching down the stairs.

Most of the others ventured after him, but Cordelia could not. Not yet.

She would leave a piece of herself in this place of nothingness, and she was not sure if she’d miss that piece or not.

Maybe the world outside would be different, too.

Ophilia offered her arm, and Cordelia took it. Still not moving. It was only the two of them and H’aanit, and Primrose… lingering. What were they waiting for? For _her_?

They might be afraid too. But it did not seem so. Primrose actually _smiled_ at her, encouragingly, hopefully— 

“Well then, miss Ravus,” Primrose said, a gentle hand on Cordelia’s shoulder, the other gesturing down the stairs. “…Shall we?”


	4. Cobbleston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That was how Cordelia wanted to live. Enveloped in kindness._
> 
> The travelers try to mend the open wound in the fabric of the world, and being granted a future, Cordelia wants to find the place she has longed for.

The stairs of the Gate of Finis seemed to go on forever, down, down, down. Far longer than they’d ventured on the way _up_.

But Cyrus walked first, his hands searching for any inconsistencies, and Primrose walked last, her head held high, as though willing the rules of space and matter to bend to her.

Cordelia was still uncertain in her steps, but next to them, she felt surer than before.

After a few hundred steps, they saw the wide-open gate. Tressa jogged up first, putting her hands toward what looked like glass. She slammed her hands loosely against it, this barrier between them and the beautiful sunlight cascading down the mountains and ruins, and it only rippled like the surface of a pond.

“Guess the witch spoke a little bit of truth,” Tressa muttered and turned around to face Cyrus. “Although the air does feel kind of funky around here, right?”

Cyrus tapped the barrier and smiled. “ _Funky_ ,” he repeated. “You young ones have such amusing expressions, but I suppose that is the only way to describe the portal phenomenon… Yes, I believe I shall be able to open this, too. Stand aside, my friends!”

Like the portal before, Cyrus ripped it open, and while there was no visible difference between portal and not-portal, Tressa skipped through and raised her fists on the other side. She turned around to shout at them, but no sound carried over to them.

“It appears to be working,” Cyrus chuckled to himself. “Perhaps I shall explore the possibility of portal transportation across Orsterra for my next paper… Go on, all of you. I shall be the last to leave, in case there is a disruption.”

Therion pushed Alfyn through first, but followed right after. They were caught in a big hug from Tressa, and Cordelia spotted the flash of a smile on Therion’s face.

“Go ahead,” Primrose prompted Cordelia.

And Cordelia did. Still with Ophilia’s arm in hers, she walked through the portal and the spell that enclosed them… let them go.

They stepped out onto the ground of what had formerly been Hornburg, where the sky was piercing blue. Although Cordelia did not get to look at the sky for long, though, because Tressa pulled the two of them into the same embrace as Therion and Alfyn. It was crowded, but not in a bad way.

Not in a bad way, at all.

“You guys,” Tressa sniffled. “I love you… So much!”

Cordelia hugged her back as best she could in that mess, before they let go and Tressa thundered into Primrose and H’aanit and Olberic instead.

“You too,” she continued, before she pointed at Kit. “And you, kid!”

Kit pulled his cloak tighter around himself, disoriented. “I… am not sure I deserve that sentiment, but thank you—”

“Are you kidding?” Tressa slung her arm around his shoulders and pointed a thumb toward the center of her chest. “Once a friend of Tressa, _always_ a friend of Tressa! Well, unless you do something world-destructive on _purpose_ , but that’s beside the point—I know I speak for everyone here, so there!”

Kit could no longer object. He only nodded, eyes on the ground.

Cyrus was the last to exit the portal. His frown was already deep over his eyes as he turned around to follow the massive stone gates with his gaze.

“Now that everyone is through safely, one issue remains.” He lifted his hands and put them together forcefully, as though intending to pull the doors with him. Nothing happened.

“It was worth a try,” he said, before he turned around to face the rest of them. “I would not want to put a damper on the mood, but regardless of red smoke or not, I find the thought of this gate remaining open… uncomfortable.”

“There’s always something,” Therion sighed, leaning into Alfyn. “Maybe we can push it shut?”

“I think not,” Cyrus said with a tap on his chin. “But it cannot hurt to try.”

Cordelia let her gaze move over the many runes of High Hornburgian along the rim of the gate, fresh like they’d been carved the day before.

And they were familiar to her. The Dragonstones had the same runes, shaped by gold. Her father… Her father had said…

“Uhm, excuse me, Professor Albright?” Cordelia’s voice felt small.

“Yes, miss Ravus?”

She hesitated. It may sound like she was reaching for a dream born out of a magic-induced concussion... But Kit had spoken to his father as well, and perhaps others had met loved ones from beyond, too (though if so, it was their secret to keep). Her father had been real, and he had passed on what he had promised so many years in the past.

“It is… It is about my family secret, you see.”

And she told them. Before the gaping gate, she told them of Odin Crossford and the seal, the first Ravus and the Dragonstones.

Cyrus was (unsurprisingly) thrilled about Cordelia’s news. Logically, he argued, if the gates were closed by the Dragonstones once, they could be again.

“Well then,” Cyrus concluded. “I say we have prolonged our trip to Bolderfall quite enough, miss Ravus!”

Like so many times before, Cyrus led the charge to a new destination. The world was wide, and full of possibility.

\---

Leaving Hornburg was not easy. The road north through the mountains was in complete disarray, and H’aanit and Alfyn took turns in supporting Olberic on their shoulders.

They could hardly leave for Bolderfall immediately—the closest town with living people was the first step of the way.

“Follow this path,” Olberic said weakly, his eyelids drooping. “I walked it myself… many years ago. It leads to Cobbleston.”

The sun prickled Cordelia’s eyes. They had reached the height of a mountain path, where a torn banner cast a striped shadow over them, and below lay the world of the Highlands.

The Highlands was not a kingdom, not since Hornburg’s fall, but there was a noble house in Stoneguard that assured order and public services—although Cobbleston was living far away from all such things. From that high up, the houses looked like they were nestled into the hills, built from the same stone as the mountains surrounding them.

Cordelia believed she even saw the movement of people milling about the fields, and her heart swelled with relief.

It looked so ordinary. So far removed form the unbroken seal of a fallen god.

As soon as they reached Cobbleston, Olberic was left to nurse his injuries. Alfyn obviously stayed with him, and Opehlia suggested Kit get the chance to rest there, too.

“I will watch over him,” she promised. It was a statement born out of kindness, but there was still a glint of determination in her eye.

If there were any traces of Galdera left to break free from Kit, Ophilia would be there to end it. It made sense, although Cordelia felt hesitant going on a journey without the safe harbor of Ophilia’s company, and didn’t like to admit just how sound Ophilia's unspoken argument was.

Their goodbyes were hurried. Cordelia had mentally prepared for it for a while, but this was more of a temporary separation, so nothing she had prepared felt quite right. A few _‘take care_ ’s and ‘ _see you soon’_ s, and then they were off.

It was not as strange as Cordelia had feared—not with Tressa continuously sparking stories and new topics, gesturing widely like she was ready to let the entire world hear her speak. Not with Cyrus’ long lectures keeping their evening campfires interesting (at least according to Cordelia’s standards). Not with Linde stroking against Cordelia’s legs and Therion walking beside her in comfortable silence. Even Primrose seemed to have opened up to her, at least on a surface level, enough for them to chuckle over how intense noble table etiquette lessons could be.

It had all been very… normal. Like what had transpired in the depth of a different dimension had been nothing but a nightmare. The world was still the same out there, after all.

\---

Cordelia had not realized how much she had missed the red cliffs. The deadly, towering spikes gave anything but a warm welcome, but they were her home.

She wondered silently if Therion had a home. A past. She wondered if anyone else among the travelers knew about it. They rested by the base of the Bolderfall spire, and Therion looked at the cliffs with a certain bitterness, filtering his hand into the river that bled through the Cliftlands, with a forlorn look in his eyes.

Cordelia leaned down toward him. “Is anything the matter, mister Therion?”

He chuckled darkly. “You can drop the mister, you know.”

Cordelia felt her mouth twitch. A human cactus, she had called him. It was difficult to get through those needles of his, even now.

She sat down beside him. He gave her a darting gaze, then threw a pebble into the river without so much as a splash.

“Got some bad memories of this river,” he said, putting his scarf further up his face to hide his mouth. Hide his expressions.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. She might be better off being quiet, and if he wanted to tell her, he would… But she wanted to give him the option to say no.

Therion shrugged. “I don’t like to bother people with my sob stories. Someone wanted to murder me and failed. Joke’s on him, I lived. That’s it.”

Cordelia nodded, stayed silent. Therion threw another pebble.

“Lots of people have wanted me dead,” he elaborated. “Big deal. The thing is, when your attempted murderer is someone you almost even _liked_ a little bit—I don’t know. It hits different.”

“I imagine so,” Cordelia said. “I’m sorry, mist… Therion.”

Therion gave her a tiny sile. “Thanks… It messed me up a bit. I worked alone since then. Determined to be the best at anything to do with thievery.”

“You are,” Cordelia said. “I only began thinking I made the challenge impossible for anyone below a god, but then you just… showed up one day.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Therion grinned, the scarf still covering his mouth, but his eyes sparked with joy. “You know what—I nearly fumbled that whole operation before I even got to you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Cordelia smiled at him.

“Yeah,” Therion laughed. “Some apothecary thought the toxileaves in your traps along the wall would be useful in his concoctions. He just ignored the guards and walked right up there—they’d have thrown him head-first into a gaol if I hadn’t dragged him with me into the bushes. I saved his hide and called him an idiot. Thought I’d seen the last of him, but after the, well, slight personal disaster at your house… I was sloppy. I landed in the toxileaves on my way back. Went to the tavern, rash all over my face, and what do you know, _he’s_ there. Primrose was also by that table, but I didn’t really notice her, because he was just… Grinning. Waving. Offering a remedy—and a cider—as thanks. I guess it was just… difficult for me to get out of that sort of… entanglement.”

Another pebble into the river.

“It’s funny,” he said. “How some people can change your world. For better, or for worse.” He fiddled with the last rock, then offered it to her. Cordelia did not know what else to do than to mirror him and throw it, too. It did not reach very far.

They watched the streams move for a few seconds of silence, before Cordelia drew a breath.

“Therion, I feel I have not apologized to you enough… For setting you on a dangerous path. The Dragonstones… I don’t want to pry, but it cannot have been… easy.”

“Not much more dangerous than my other business,” Therion shrugged, but then he lowered his scarf down to his chin, his mouth a thin line. “But I appreciate it. I mean, the first Dragonstone was no trouble, really. The other two… Has anyone told you what happened in Northreach?”

“No,” Cordelia answered.

“Huh,” Therion said. “Figured someone would have babbled about it already. You know I mentioned the guy who wanted to murder me?”

“Oh. I see…”

“Yeah. It’s funny, though. I shouted at him how those Dragonstones weren’t _his_. Strange thing for a thief to say, right?”

“Were you… hurt?”

“Well, you should have seen the other guy. The two of us knew each other as kids, so I knew all of his dirty tricks. He knew mine too. He had even Cyrus pretty much figured out… but he sure as hell didn’t know _Alfyn_ could fight dirty. I wish I could tell you, because it was _incredible_ , but Alfyn doesn’t want me to spread that around, so I won’t.” He laughed, almost to himself, then smiled at Cordelia. “When I marry the man, I’ll invite you. And perhaps we’ll share that story then.”

A pair of birds swished past them, catching dragonflies, and they let out their quivering tweets. A sure song of autumn closing in on the Cliftlands. The sounds of her home.

“I will be honored to accept such an invitation,” Cordelia smiled back at him.

She could hear Primrose call out to them, and realized that they’d rested for long enough. It was time to get moving.

Therion got up to standing, pulling his scarf back over his face, although his eyes still sparked of rare joy. He offered his hand, and Cordelia took it.

Bolderfall was not many hours away. It was an uphill walk, and Cordelia could feel joins aching that she did not even know existed. It was a special sight, however, to walk through Bolderfall like one of the people. Not as lady of the house, not in eloquent circlets and fine velvet.

A pair of kids bumped into her and apologized. A few adults pressed past her and did not apologize. Another tried to sell her bread. They did not put a damper to themselves like they would if she was dressed as a noble—and they did not look at her with envy or disgust, either.

She noticed the slums in need of repair. The fences that were moldy, despite being the only protection from a plummet to death, apart from common sense.

Cordelia felt her conviction grow.

As she reached her home, she was almost refused at the door. There was not that much to recognize her by, it was true, but Heathcote embraced her all the same.

With that came one of the more difficult things. She had to explain herself to him. She sounded mad, spinning stories about the thirteenth god over a cup of tea and freshly baked cinnamon buns, but Heathcote listened. Sometimes (quite often, actually) Cyrus would cut in with a point of his own, or theory, or develop the assumptions—Cordelia gladly let him. He made it sound less like a crazed nightmare and more like an actual situation. Completely grounded and logical.

“That is why we need the Dragonstones,” Cordelia said. “I am sorry, Heathcote, but I will not be staying long. Our matter is pressing.”

“It does sound so,” Heathcote nodded, a small smile in the corner of his mouth. “My dear Cordelia… You need not explain yourself to me. The Dragonstones are your legacy. You may take them wherever you wish, for as long as you guard them like a Ravus… like your father.”

They stayed the night, and Cordelia wondered if she would miss her bed. She decided she would not, as the air inside her mansion felt… stuffy. Cold. Unfriendly. She walked down to the shrine in the basement, hands clasped in silent prayer.

But her thoughts wandered. To Ophilia’s low voice as they shared this space together, the day they had met. To her scream-prayers in the depths of hell, luminescent against the dark pulses of Galdera.

It was difficult to be normal, with such memories. A part of her was still in that in-between, hovering between life and death… Some things could not be healed by either magic or concoctions. But she missed Ophilia, how her presence made everything… easier.

She was almost happy to leave the manor. With the Dragonstones in a simple backpack, she pulled Heathcote aside to tell him goodbye in peace.

“There is something I need to do,” she told him. “Even… after I come back, I do not want for everything to be the same. I want all these riches… I want them all distributed to the people of Bolderfall, and the excess to the rest of the Cliftlands… I have no need of them.”

Heathcote rested his hands behind his back, a proud smile on his face. “My lady… I would advise you to think this through, but it appears you already have.”

“Will you help me?”

“Without doubt, my lady. But pray tell, what of the Dragonstones?”

“Those, I shall keep,” she said. “I will not tell you where I will take them, though.”

He dipped his brow. “It is your responsibility, and yours alone. I will not pry. Best of luck on your travels, my lady. May we meet again soon.”

“I swear it,” Cordelia said and embraced him. “Thank you, Heathcote. For my life. For… everything. And I just know… my father thanks you, too.”

When they pulled back, she thought she spotted tears in Heathcote’s eyes, but if so, they were swiftly blinked away.

\---

The gate looked as though nothing had changed. The gaping stairs ventured ever inward, the doors wide open. Not a single bird or insect was in the air, like they feared this cosmic horror more than humans had the sense to, although Cordelia felt how her gut twisted at the sight, at the memory of certain doom, of demons taking the shape of people both known and unfamiliar.

Cyrus was the one to hold the stones, once Cordelia unpacked them.

Cyrus hummed and prodded for a bit before he grinned from ear to ear and put them down.

“This is quite intuitive,” he said, and with a long incantation, the runes on the stones ignited with the runes on the door.

“The seal itself is already made,” he continued, stretching his fingers. “All _I_ need to do is close the door.”

He closed his eyes, beginning a new incantation. With an ungodly rasping sound, the stone doors moved. Slowly at first, then all at once.

Dust spiralled through the air as the giant doors slammed shut. The runes disappeared, like cooling coals, and the doors fused with the mountain until it was completely indistinguishable.

The horrors within would never again see the light of day. Cordelia would keep the Dragonstones safe and far away from anyone who would use them to attempt something like this again.

She scooped the stones up in her arms, but Cyrus lingered, his eyes focused on the gleaming surfaces.

“Say,” he inquired. “I hope you wouldn’t mind me taking a longer look at the stones? It would be a shame to let such prime magical artifacts remain shrouded in mystery—”

“No,” Cordelia answered shortly and pulled her cloak around the stones, hiding them from sight. “The curse—it’s happening. Can somebody please—?”

Olberic had been the one to promise to drag Cyrus away if the stone’s allure got the better of him, but H’aanit worked just as well. She grabbed him from behind and hoisted him up in the air, stepping away from Cordelia and beginning her ascent up the mountain, ahead of the rest.

Cyrus’ upper arms were pinned, but he held up his hands regardless. “Excuse me, this is wholly unnecessary – it was a harmless question. I can take a no just fine.”

H’aanit kept walking, and Cyrus sighed and lowered his hands, let them hang by his sides. “Surely you do not intend to carry me all the way to Cobbleston?”

“’Twould be no issue of mine,” H’aanit answered. “Thou weigheth less than a leopard pup.”

Linde snapped her tail at the mention of her species and buffed her head against Cyrus.

“Don’t worry, miss Ravus,” Primrose smiled at her and poked a pebble from out of her sandals. “H’aanit’s got this.”

“Besides,” Therion added. “If Cyrus tries to steal them, I’ll just steal them right back. Done it once already, right?”

“You think he will try?” Cordelia kept her grip tight on the stones. She feared what the Dragonstones were capable of, the magnetic allure that she herself had never experienced. What if the temptation of the stones was irreversible?

“Not Cyrus, no,” Tressa said with a comforting pat on Cordelia’s shoulder. “Therion carried them all the way from Northreach without any of us getting fidgety—besides, it’s not like the curse-thingy is going to last! We had to steal the first stone from a scholar guy who was obsessed with it… we ran into him a few months ago. He’s fine, now!”

“Aside from still having a giant bruise over his face from your pike,” Therion added. 

“Had to pry it from his hands somehow, right?”

“I _told_ you I had it!”

“Sure you did,” Tressa said, tightening the straps of her backpack and started walking. “Are you guys coming or not, though? I can’t wait to leave this place forever and ever.”

Cordelia let out a small, nervous chuckle, still holding on to the stones for dear life. Perhaps she exaggerated, but despite how normal the world felt now, she had a hard time letting this tension go.

“Do you have any specific plans, Tressa?” Cordelia asked, tilting her head as she joined her up the mountain path.

Tressa shrugged. “I dunno. Start a shop. Do roadwork plans. Make cookies with my girlfriend. Possibilities are endless when you’re not stuck in another dimension. How about you? Are you going to do your writing-thing?”

Cordelia’s former ideas of chronicling had started to take shape again. She had even dared to ask Cyrus about how one went about becoming a chronicler. She did not get a short answer.

There were plenty of things she needed to be done before then. Rebuilding her mansion into something useful for the community. Selling her inherited treasures. Putting the money in a fund.

She looked down at her feet. “Maybe. I haven’t decided how, though.”

“Most things don’t ever go according to plan anyway,” Tressa said, grin audible in her voice. “If you figure out what you want to do, you’ll get there one day—but maybe not in the way you thought.”

\---

The second time Cordelia saw Cobbleston from far above, it was somehow even more beautiful. Green hills and valleys with houses that were _whole_ and not littered by lumpy graves and sagging ruins, like in former Hornburg behind them.

Hornburg cities may one day be rebuilt, but those who had survived the war had found other places to call home and so the ruins remained untouched. The Highlands stretched wide and far, after all. There were plenty of places where no horrid memories would haunt those who wished to move on.

Like Cobbleston. Picturesque and innocent, smelling of goat roast and barley fields, even all the way up the mountain. It looked like village of dollhouses, where Cordelia could spot the doll children running excitedly after a man on crutches.

Further down the same road, surrounded by an empty enclosure, a small boy practiced fencing with a much larger man while a small girl bounced impatiently on top of the fence with a wooden sword of her own.

When Cordelia got closer, she could hear their laughter. Her shoulders were tense with the wight of the Dragonstones, but even she relaxed at the sound. Cyrus had been released by H’aanit, and he had no more interest to ask about the Dragonstones. He simply evened out the wrinkles on his garb and stretched his back and gone on a strangely long tangent about the agricultural value of goat farming. Even so, Cordelia kept a watchful eye on him as they walked briskly down the slope.

The fencing practice was still ongoing when they reached the empty enclosure. They had a wide area for themselves, Alfyn and this boy and the girl waiting on the fence for her turn, but they stayed close to the road despite that.

The swords clapped together with another parry, before the little boy let out a battle cry and followed through, poking the wooden tip into Alfyn’s gut.

Alfyn knelt down before the boy with an exhausted huff.

“Alright, kid, that’s enough, ya beat me,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, but we said best of seven,” the boy argued. “So we should fight seven times!”

“Not if you’ve already won four,” Alfyn said. “No matter how many times I still win now, you still get more than me. See?”

He held up his hands with four on one hand and three of the other.

The boy frowned. “Okay, yeah, I get it—but I still wanna practice more! Pleaaase?”

“No!” the girl on the fence yelled. “It’s my turn!”

Alfyn laughed, then turned his head toward Cordelia and the others. His smile brightened.

“Oh. Hey there, everyone! Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hello, Alfyn,” Primrose smiled back. “Nice to see you’re well.”

“Are you getting beat up by kids?” Therion asked (greetings and reunions were not his strong suit).

“Yep,” Alfyn answered, and gestured at the boy. “Philip’s been taught well. No wonder, with Olberic as his teacher, but still.”

Philip eyed them all with a measuring gaze. Cordelia recognized him vaguely from their last visit to Cobbleston, but that had been brief and her mind had been scrambled by everything that had happened at the Gate of Finis. She had not gotten to know any of the villagers, not really. Philip was a fatherless boy who had taken to Olberic, and Olberic had taken to him, and that was all she knew.

Philip lifted a finger and pointed to H’aanit. “Do you wanna spar? You look pretty strong.”

H’aanit arced a brow at Philip.

“Prithee—me? Suppose I knowen my way around the sword. That I can doe.”

“Yes,” Philip cheered, then turned to the girl on the fence. “Okay, Elise, you get to spar with Alfyn, and I go with her!”

“No!” Elise complained. “I want to spar with a cool lady too!”

“You just said you wanted Alfyn!”

“It’s no fair—you get to spar with Olberic all the time too! Why do you always get the cool ones?”

“Ouch,” Alfyn chuckled under his breath, then moved over to the fence, the wooden sword thrown over his shoulder.

“Hey Elise, I know someone else who’s way cooler than I am.” He arced a brow and threw a glance over his shoulder. “He knows a whole different sword technique no one else knows.”

Elise seemed interested, so he leaned forward and whispered loudly; “It’s a _secret_ technique. Only thieves know them, and you have to prove your worth in battle before they pass it on…”

He trailed off with a tone that was very clearly meant to be mysterious, then looked right at Therion with a smile that could melt glass.

“Oh no”, Therion said. “I’m not gonna—”

Alfyn didn’t say anything, only reached the sword over to him.

“No,” Therion said again.

“Do take pity on me,” Alfyn said with a tilt of his head. “I’m exhausted. These kids are merciless.”

“You _literally_ fought the Dark God less than three weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t demand a rematch every five minutes.”

Therion sighed, put his backpack down and grabbed the sword. “Fine. Elise, was it? I... challenge you?”

The girl grabbed her own practice sword with both hands. “Then prepare to _die_ ”, she screamed, jumped over the fence and lunged.

“Huh— What the—” Therion parried and danced like a cat around fire, and the girl hunted him every step of the way with excited shrieks.

“Haha! I hit your sword! I get a thousand points!”

“Oh yeah?” Therion huffed with a small smile. “I sidestepped, see that? Hah—how many points do I get?”

Elise paused for a second and knitted her brow.

“Three,” she answered.

“Weird economy,” Therion mumbled, but Cordelia could still see him smiling. “All right then, kiddo. I’ll play. Ready or not, here I come!”

Alfyn got to standing and moved out of the way, giving a small salute at the top of his forehead at Cordelia.

“Welcome back, fellas. You sure caught us right in the middle of a chaotic afternoon, but hey, it’s never quiet with these kids around. You all good?”

“All good,” Cordelia nodded back.

“We fetched the stones and Cyrus closed the gates no problem,” Tressa said with a lazy wave. “Now I’d just like a warm bath. How have you guys been?”

“All right,” Alfyn said and stretched his back, nodding over to the lower roads. “Olberic is up and doing laps now.”

Just as he spoke, Olberic hopped past on crutches, a batch of kids jogging after him with tireless cheers. He stopped by the enclosure and leaned on one of the fence poles.

“You’re back,” he smiled at Cordelia. “All good?”

“All good,” Cordelia repeated. Somehow, those two words were enough to summarize nearly three weeks of travels, but she supposed there was not much more to say. These people were not the biggest enthusiasts when it came to telling tales and boasting, after all. There was a time and place for that, and right then, they needed only know that everything was fine.

Cordelia glanced back at Alfyn. The sack with the Dragonstones were growing heavy on her back, and she longed for a rest, but it did not feel right to demand a place of peace and quiet. Not before she knew…

“Where’s Kit and Ophilia?” she asked.

“Kit’s out collecting medicinal herbs for me,” Alfyn answered, dragging a hand through his hair. “His father was an apothecary. A good one. Turns out I kind of knew him, although never by name—anyway, Kit’s picked up some stuff from his old man, and he was growing a bit restless here. He’s got travelling legs, that one. As for Ophilia, she walked up the hills for prayer a while ago. She might still be there.”

Bright laughter echoed over the valley, and Alfyn paused, his eyes set on Therion as he hopped over the fence and rolled down on the ground. He was taking this playfight on seriously, and Elise shrieked with delight as she hunted him down.

Alfyn laughed to himself, before he looked back on Cordelia.

“Hey, you’re probably hungry, right?” he asked. “Want some oatmeal? I’ll check on Olberic and then I’ll get to cooking something tasty—they’ve got fresh grains here, after all.”

“Just one more lap,” Olberic said and propped himself up on his crutches again.

“It’s not like you’re gonna listen if I recommend otherwise,” Alfyn shrugged. “Go ahead, man.”

Cordelia would have loved a meal, but if it would take some time to prepare, she would rather find Ophilia and make sure she was all right, too. She excused herself and walked up the hills, still with the sack of dragonstones over her back.

Ophilia was, true to Alfyn’s guess, standing at the top of a hill in the outskirts of the village. From there, Cordelia could overlook the vast green and grey stretching out before them into an uneven horizon. Ophilia’s pale golden hair moved gently in the wind as she kept her head bent over her clasped hands.

If she prayed, she did not speak her words aloud. Cordelia hesitated on whether she should make her presence known, since disturbing prayer would be disrupting something so intimate—but as though sensing company, Ophilia stretched her back and turned to look at her.

And the way she smiled… A few weeks apart from her made it all clearer how warm Ophilia’s smiles made Cordelia feel.

“Cordelia,” Ophilia greeted her joyfully. “You’ve returned.”

“I have,” Cordelia said. “It is done. The gate is closed.”

Ophilia closed her eyes with a small sigh of relief. “That is all I have held in my prayers for these many long days,” she answered. “I am so glad to hear it.”

Cordelia walked up to stand beside her, overlooking the outstretched hillscape beyond. “I missed having you along,” she said, and it felt clunky and strange to voice such strong feelings.

“And I lamented that I could not go,” Ophilia answered. “But now, perhaps I can. Kit has not shown any signs of lurking darkness or possession. I believe he truly is free, apart from the burden of his heritage.”

Cordelia nodded. “Is it perhaps time to return to how things used to be, then?”

She was not sure what that meant. She had not thought about _belonging_ in a while, but the thought of settling down somewhere… It was a vast unknown, and frightening.

“Yes,” Ophilia answered. “Olberic will stay here, of course. Alfyn and Therion will leave once Olberic’s well… And I shall return to Flamesgrace. My father has passed on, and as Flamebearer… It will require years of practice and preparation, but the mantle of archbishop… will be mine to bear.”

“I do not believe it would suit anyone better,” Cordelia said.

“Thank you,” Ophilia smiled, her gaze distant. “Truly, no one knows what fate has in store for them, but even so… What about you?”

Cordelia winced slightly. Her plans were like dots of stars in the night sky—too much dark uncertainty and nothing that connected them.

“I will not stay in the position of a noble lady,” she answered—because that, at least, she knew. “All this time, it has been a burden. A burden I believed I was destined for… But perhaps there is a different way to keep the Dragonstones safe, without drowning them in other riches and trinkets. Such things failed to protect them before.”

It had worked for a thousand years, so perhaps it was not a complete failure, but Cordelia elected to ignore that.

Ophilia did not pressure her to continue, but Cordelia sighed again.

“I would like to make sure the Ravus treasures are used for something good. For everyone. I would like to start my chronicles, of what I’ve experienced, all that the eight of you have done.”

She paused, searching within herself before she let slip what had been on her mind, too.

“And… I think I would like to move.”

The world had seemed as though made of thorns, with unfriendly and evil people, but those facts had only been repeated by the nobles that claimed greed and darkness to be ‘ _the natural state of mankind_ ’. It was not. It could not be.

Cordelia knew better. The natural state of mankind was to support, to welcome, to build and create… To be kind, just like the eight friends that had shown up on her doorstep—even if they were not always nice. _Niceness_ could show complicity to evil, but kindness would never allow evil to take root.

Therion might snap at things, Cyrus might interrupt people, Primrose might have a resting glare and sharp knives, and Tressa might enjoy sass a little bit too much—but they would stand up for those who needed them and stay kind. That was how Cordelia wanted to live. Enveloped in kindness.

“Where would you like to move?” Ophilia asked her, breaking the silence that had lasted for a near-awkward length.

“I have not… decided yet.”

Ophilia smiled at her, and it seemed hesitant, but also _coy_. “I hope it will turn out to be close to Flamesgrace, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Oh, yes of course,” Cordelia said with a hesitant chuckle. “I would like to stay close to a friend like you.”

“You might to live close to Noa as well, perhaps,” Ophilia added. “Please, do not let my comment cloud your judgement.”

“No, it is fine,” Cordelia assured her. “Judging by our last visit, she might not be home much. And it is not really… the same with Noa.”

Why was it not the same? Cordelia’s heart seemed to crawl further up her throat the longer she thought about it; everything that had transpired between her and Noa in the past, the love she felt for her… And the fear of expectations that Cordelia had felt when they had attempted a relationship. All of it was different. She was not afraid of feeling inadequate.

Ophilia’s face had grown cautious from Cordelia’s comment, her gaze still stubbornly set on the hills and not on Cordelia.

“How… do you mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Cordelia said, a bit too hastily. She was dancing around something that might be considered much too strange—they’d only known each other for about four months. At the same time grief tore at her chest from the thought of becoming separate from Ophilia for an uncertain future.

Ophilia put her staff down on the ground and began to pull her gloves off. Cordelia still wasn’t sure what exactly the purpose of those gloves was, but she looked vulnerable without them. Open. Less of a holy woman and more of an… ordinary person, as much as one might call someone like Ophilia ordinary.

“Interrupt me if I’m making you uncomfortable”, Ophilia said, then winced like she felt like she had said something inappropriate. “But perhaps it is best to be candid… I would very much like to have the opportunity to visit you. It has not been very long, but you feel… Special to me.” She smiled slightly, hiding her hands behind her back. “I do not have much experience with romancing, and Primrose has teased me for it—but I simply have not seen… an interest. I have not cared for the thought because of what it all might… _mean_. While I love my friends here, I cannot say the same of them as I could say of you. I cannot imagine seeing any of them with me for the rest of my life. But your company… is effortless.”

Cordelia’s heart had halted in her chest. She was both cold and warm at the same time. Ophilia had paused, and Cordelia cleared her throat.

“Go on,” she said. “This does not make me uncomfortable at all.”

“Oh, good”, Ophilia said in a tense sigh. “What I mean is that I would be pleased beyond words to have you near, as my best friend if that is what we would become, but if it is where fate wills us… I would also like to share my life with you… as something beyond that. Perhaps. If it was a shared intention.”

She was quiet for a bit, and so was Cordelia. She was not sure how to word her own response, so they hovered in an in-between.

Her heart had longed for just what Ophilia described for so long. Wondered if she would ever find such a place, a place to call her own family… She had to try to sort out her thoughts. No, she was not afraid. Yes, this was different from anything else she had experienced, and _yes_ that was good.

“I think I’d like that too”, she finally answered.

And just like that, the dark spots between her plans brightened and filled out with a safe harbor, somewhere to return and call home. Somewhere her happiness and her future could anchor. No longer was she a dust mote whirling aimlessly is basking light, she could be the window through which the light shone.

She could belong.

Ophilia reached her hand out, exploringly as though they had not already done this a hundred times before—and Cordelia took it with a determined smile. Together on the hills of Cobbleston, in a far-off corner of the world, Cordelia had found her future.


	5. Flamesgrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No matter what, Cordelia would have a draft of SOMETHING on her desk once she was done, and that was the exciting part._
> 
> Epilogue.

Cordelia had seen many autumns in her life, but not quite like this.

In Bolderfall the grass browned and the wind chilled all the way to the bone. People slept with extra blankets and put a few more logs on the evening fire; but other than that, the red cliffs did not change. There were not many trees, and no forests to speak of.

Cordelia was not completely ignorant of the summer ended with a mosaic of reds and greens and gold in other places than the Cliftlands; she had seen paintings and book illustrations aplenty. But the first time she witnessed the spectacleit for herself, stepping out onto the porch of the Flamesgrace cathedral, she could not stop the tears. She tried to hide it by brushing non-existent hair out of her eyes, but Ophilia noticed anyway.

“It’s beautiful,” Ophilia agreed, stroking Cordelia’s back with one of her small smiles.

Cordelia could only nod in response, breathing the magical air through a stuffy nose. She wasn't embarrassed; there was no room for shame beside Ophelia, for one thing, and her mind focused solely on the birch trees that framed the cathedral, swaying with leaves red like the dawn on Bolderfall’s rock formations. The forest path they would walk to the Cave of Origin was so rich in maple trees and pines, their colors were almost overwhelming in the sunlight, and Cordelia wondered how she would manage even such a short trip on a day like today without dehydrating herself. A thought that made her laugh quietly.

Cordelia was slowly getting familiar with Flamesgrace. She had walked the forest path before, but this magnificent change had happened almost overnight.

Her eyes kept smarting, even as Ophilia walked with her arm locked with hers and watched Cordelia's amazement with amused glances. Cordelia plucked one of the maple leaves down from its branch. Red, the color of life and warmth. The same bright red that had covered the sky like a cloud of doomsday looked so sweet and joyful like this.

The bells of the cathedral tolled midday. Cordelia winced at the sound.

Ophilia, having grown up with the hum of bells barely seemed to notice. With her free hand, she adjusted her cloak, the shining white fabric with green inlay and frills that signified that of archbishop. There was a very small hump on her back, so discreet it might as well have been a wrinkle of the garb—but if anyone were to come too close, they might notice the discreet gleam of sapphire and gold even beneath the cover of both pouch and cloak.

The last Dragonstone to hide. The last thing for Cordelia to do as lady of the Ravus house.

It would have been an occupying thought or at least a bittersweet moment of sorts, but the sheer beauty around her kept drawing her attention. Not just the forest, either; Ophilia, with her face toward the sky, and her eyes closed in contentment...adding both to the scenery was nearly too much.

“I’m sorry I am so slow,” Cordelia apologized, her voice thick. “It is just… A lot to take in.”

“Take your time,” Ophilia said. “I do not mind the air of the cathedral, but autumn has a certain aroma when you go outside... I do not tire of it.”

Cordelia breathed through her nose best she could. The earth seemed murkier, damper, crisper—like dew about to freeze. It had been a gradual thing; Cordelia had noticed the denseness of the air the later weeks, too. She liked to run errands, even though the cathedral pantry did not leave much for wanting. Small gifts like Whispermill flour or Grandport syrup that travelling merchants brought with them, or new wool from Cobbleston... She loved the smiles of the clerics as she brought such things home.

 _Home_. Not more than two months had passed since Cordelia had put down her bag in the Archbishop rooms, but she felt comfortable. Content.

Her old manor was already rebuilt as a library and school for Bolderfall children; with the treasures gone and sold, there were few accommodations to be made, and hiring carpenters and teachers was no trouble, either. The rest of Bolderfall was growing, with every inhabitant being offered a sustainable way of income, their house expenses and reparations covered, and still there was a lifetime’s worth of riches remaining.

Heathcote had been left in charge of it all, and she trusted him to carry everything through. She would visit in another year from now and see the change for herself. She longed for that day with her entire heart.

The wind chilled her face, and she pulled Ophilia a little closer for warmth. They were getting nearer the Cave of Origin, and the air had almost shifted again. The cave was a gate into the mountain where Aelfric’s sacred fire had poured into the earth and burned all of Galdera’s demons, fatally injuring Galdera himself.

Just a myth to some people. To Cordelia, it was truth.

She would have liked to see the First Flame with her own eyes, but no one short of Flamebearer or Archbishop were let inside by the Knights Ardante who guarded the entrance day and night. Should anyone slip past there were plenty of apparitions of ice and fire with the intention to kill any intruder as soon as they stepped into the cave.

Which was for the best, after all. There was no better place for the Dragonstones to be buried and forgotten.

Cordelia would miss them in a strange sense, but she was more than ready to let go. The night after their first success, Ophilia whispered to her of how she had ventured all the way to the First Flame and cracked a hole in the frozen pond that surrounded the flame. She had taken the Dragonstone from beneath her cloak and let it go, and she had stayed to watch them sink into the dark stillness as bottomless as Galdera’s void. Aelfric himself now kept watch over the Dragonstones, invisible in the depths.

A secret that would die with them. The Gate of Finis would remain closed for all eternity.

Ophilia’s duties to the Original Flame were that of simple safekeeping and control, to make sure its light never dulled; it was not strange for her to seek the Cave of Origin as often as she had these last month. Nor was it strange for Cordelia to follow her there.

Cordelia crying over autumn leaves was a _little_ strange, maybe, but nothing the people of Flamesgrace had not seen before.

By the entrance to the cave, Ophilia pulled her arm away and smiled at her one last time before venturing inside. Cordelia remained on the path, watching Flamesgrace from above.

She was as high up as the spires of the church, and the square below looked so small, the fortified brick roofs of the houses melding with the leaves of the forest.

People moved about their errands still with the energy of joy of summer in their actions. The old veteran Boet wheeled himself over the recently adjusted path over the cobblestone square, the path where the surface was more even, accommodating such chairs. Boet swished up one of the ramps leading up to the cathedral with a loud hello to the cleric that manned the church gate. Boet was using one of Noa’s designs, one meant for speed, and he fully utilized that feature. His wife walked far behind him with a smile visible all the way to Cordelia.

Maybe the world hadn’t changed that much. Maybe it was Cordelia’s eyes that had been opened to the new with comparison to what the world could have become—but Cordelia had not seen this much light before in her life as she had these last few months. In veteran Boet, in the Flamesgrace children who ran along the paths with their school supplies rustling in their backpacks, in the clerics and clerks and caretakers, in the merchants that passed them by.

And in Ophilia. Peace really suited Ophilia, and Cordelia hoped it suited her, too. She had turned twenty not more than a month ago, a whole life ahead of her that looked right in the eye. She was not afraid of it. This was where she belonged.

Cordelia had bought enough blank papers to last a lifetime. Many of them were meant for letters to be sent far and wide, but the rest she meant to use for putting the stories of her friends to life. She wasn’t sure exactly how it would work, but she’d sent letters to all seven travelers, hoping at least some of them would like to come by and visit.

And perhaps, if they felt so inclined, they would like to share their tales.

No matter what, Cordelia would have a draft of _something_ on her desk once she was done, and that was the exciting part.

\---

The leaves had started to turn brown by the time two visitors came to the Flamesgrace’s cathedral doors. Such a thing was not uncommon at all. Even so, it would the talk of the town for at least a week—whenever something strange or new happened to their beloved archbishop-in-waiting, stories travelled like wildfire. Cordelia was used to that, of course, but the key difference was how few of the rumors were ill-spirited.

Ophilia had just stepped out for some fresh air on a cold morning, and Cordelia joined her by the cathedral steps. They were deep in a conversation Cordelia could not remember afterwards, with the suddenness of its interruption.

At first, there was the patter of running steps over the cobblestone, and in the next moment, someone had thrown themselves at Ophilia with a joyful shriek.

The knights Ardante by the cathedral gates all drew their swords, but once Ophilia laughed hard and embraced the stranger, they relaxed their stances.

“Tressa,” Ophilia chuckled. “What a lovely surprise!”

Tressa stepped back a little and grinned at her. “Gosh, sorry if I scared you, I just missed you so much, Ophilia! You look fancy! I like the green stuff on your robe. Suits you!”

“Thank you,” Ophilia smiled, and turned to the knights Ardante with a nod. “She is a guest. Do not fear.”

“Hey Cordy,” Tressa greeted Cordelia, with a dip of her little hat and complete disregard for any potential threat. Cordelia curtsied back at her, for lack of better things—she was in a public space, and such things came rather naturally to her still.

“It’s so nice to see you,” came Noa’s voice from down the square. Noa wheeled herself up the ramp with an excited smile. She had grown her hair even longer, and kept it loosely tied back.

“Noa,” Cordelia greeted her, and they embraced like so many times before. Their letters had grown scarcer, but it was only natural with Noa being on the move.

“It’s still so unexpected to see you like this,” Noa chuckled. “But you always looked good in blue. That goes for clergy robes too!”

“Thank you”, Cordelia said and straightened her sleeves. “I’m not a cleric, but I still live and help out at the church, so blue it is!”

A few townspeople had stopped in the middle of their errands, curiously eyeing the archbishop and her mysterious friends. Ophilia only smiled at them and gestured for Tressa and Noa to come inside and away from the onlookers.

“We can catch up in the Archbishop’s quarters,” she said. “It’s warmer in here, besides! We just put the fire out, but we can get it going again.”

“Aw, archbishop-quarters, sounds so important,” Tressa smiled and looked around at the stone-carved ceiling and bright blue curtains. “Never ceases to amaze how cute this place is! It looks so cold and marble-y from the outside.”

“It’s much more homely than the cathedral in Saintsbridge, that’s for sure,” Noa chimed in, and Cordelia spotted some of Tressa speech patterns in her voice. “But we got there when things were busy at the height of summer, so I suppose that could explain some of the crowds and stress… Although it is much cozier with the woods and mountains around the cathedral. And the air is just so crisp up north—you picked a good place to settle down, Cordelia.”

“It is where Ophilia is,” Cordelia laughed quietly. “I believe it cannot be better.”

Ophilia kept her serene and gentle smile, but her cheeks colored a bit.

“You two are _too_ cute,” Tressa grinned. “Thanks for having us, by the way. We got your letter a month ago.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Ophilia said and showed them inside the Archbishop rooms. Inside was the usual fireplace filled with cold ashes, and Cordelia immediately brushed them aside and put new firewood in an organized pile.

“I’ve got that one,” Tressa said and flicked a tiny magical ember onto the wood. Moments after, a homely fire sparked shadows across the room.

The archbishop’s quarters were quite simple in comparison to what Cordelia was used to, but it was more than enough. Just this fireplace and a bed for warmth, and one working desk large enough for two and a dining table with enough chairs for a sizeable family.

“Do you plan to stay long?” Cordelia asked with a smile at Noa. “Or are you just passing through?”

“Now that we’re here, we might as well look around town—and the forest outside, too!” Noa took Tressa’s hand. “The world is incredible, truly! We were in Saintsbridge and journeyed through the Riverlands, we danced in Victor’s Hollow, we cooked soup from wild rice we’ve gathered along the road, I’ve sketched so many birds and there are at least fifteen different chapels that I’d say are good for getting married in—”

“Your dad insists it _needs_ to be fancy,” Tressa added. “We gotta keep that in mind… maybe Flamesgrace will do.”

Noa laughed into her hand. “It’s _only_ the center of the Faith, ten times the size of ordinary chapels. I hope he would consider that fancy enough, but that’s for another day.” She looked right at Cordelia, her cheeks flushed with life and joy. “We’re saving up for a ship! I wanted to buy it for money we’ve made on our own.”

“Shop’s been doing well,” Tressa preened. “We’re basically giving the accessibility items away for free, but it wouldn’t be fair to try and turn a profit on those, you know? We’re expanding that list, too, with more tools for everyone, and we’ve met with a bunch of important nobles and royals. Individual state sanctions are what’s supposed to keep the accessibility stuff available even after your dad’s funds run out.”

“In other words, the world’s set on that end for a few decades.” Noa adjusted herself by pressing down on the arm supports. “But like Tressa said, I’ve been looking into designs for other accessibility tools, add that to our travels and the shop… I haven’t seen this many people before in my life!”

“They come in droves,” Tressa said with a little wiggle of her eyebrows. “We’re just that good.”

“It’s lovely to hear of your successes,” Ophilia smiled. “How about some tea? It’s blackberry season, Cordelia made muffins.”

“ _Heck_ yes,” Tressa exclaimed. “You want some too, Noa?”

“Yes please,” Noa smiled, getting up from her wheelchair to sit down on one of the stools. “There’s far more catching up to do, after all.”

“Right, yeah,” Tressa said and snapped her fingers, taking Ophilia’s chair in front of the dinner table with an intense look at Cordelia. “Almost forgot about that, but the letter mentioned how this was all about your writing-thing!”

“Chronicling,” Cordelia felt the need to specify.

“That’s so exciting,” Tressa said and hopped closer with her chair. “You want my story!”

Cordelia fetched a quill, sensing that she might need it. “Yes, whenever you’re ready to tell it.”

“Might as well start right now,” Tressa grinned at Noa. “Because boy is there a lot to tell—I mean a lot of it is already in the journal I gave to Noa, but hey, there’s more where that came from.” She drew a deep breath, then leaned over the table in a wild gesture, grinning wide. “So, it all started when pirates arrived in Rippletide, right—?”

\---

Darkness blanketed a world concealed by snow and ice, as was winter’s going in Flamesgrace.

Compared to Bolderfall, the main thing that stood out to Cordelia was the sheer _volume_ of snow. The Cliftlands usually got enough snow to make snow lanterns and make snowball fights (not that Cordelia had ever experienced one of those), but the Frostlands completely transformed. The roads narrowed, the tree branches drooped, and sound dulled.

Snow was scooped down from the roofs almost daily. Signs were put up around the cathedral, warning people of the potentially lethal falling snow. The bottom of the cathedral’s windows were covered by white shadows, and the rest of the town faired about the same. All Cordelia could see from the cathedral porch were a few twinkling lights from the two-story houses, the rest was completely covered.

Ploughing was made minimally. The townspeople walked in rows toward the sermons they still wanted to attend (it was by far the easiest place to meet one’s neighbors, as chatting over the fence was out of the question). They all wore several layers with fox fur framing their faces, carrying large lanterns, swaying gently in complete darkness.

The entire town was relatively still, and there were barely any travelers out on the roads. Yet when the snow was at its peak, two travelers _did_ pass by. They opened the doors in the middle of sermon, and plenty of heads turned to wonder who was coming in _this_ late.

Covered in furs and hoods and hats, Cordelia did not recognize either of them at first. But then again, she should have been able to guess, when all she could see was one glare and one wide grin.

To avoid any further disruptions, Cordelia invited both of them into the archbishop quarters, and once they’d gotten rid of their extra winter clothing and Cordelia had given them each a mug of hot milk, Ophilia slipped inside as well.

“So no luck in tracking Primrose and H’aanit down?” Alfyn asked—they had already exchanged pleasantries, and he only nodded and smiled at Ophilia.

Cordelia simply shook her head, and Alfyn shrugged. “Well, I haven’t seen them around much either. Where did you send the letter?”

“To S’warkii,” Cordelia answered. “It was our best guess.”

“Not a bad one, no,” Alfyn agreed. He held his mug of hot milk in both his hands, keeping them warm, while Therion had downed his almost immediately. “Even if they’re not in S’warkii at the moment, someone might know where they are and discreetly have the letter sent over. There’s still hope!”

Therion, who concealed himself in the corner with his arms crossed, only shook his head. “If they want to be left alone, that’s understandable by me. But the two of _us_ are here now, cold be damned. Better appreciate that. As for me, I’m reminded of why I hate snow.”

“I promise we won’t be long,” Alfyn said. “We’re just passing through. Flu season, and all that. We’ll be going to Sunshade next—no more snow for Therion.”

“The entire town is grateful to have you here for as long as you can spare,” Ophilia smiled at him. “But you’re still traveling? I thought you said you two were going to settle down soon?”

“Trying to get this one to warm up to the ideas of getting a house and kids is a bit of a battle,” Alfyn chuckled toward Therion.

“There are a _lot_ of things to be done before then,” Therion said and lifted a finger. “For one, I need to figure out a good place to hide my snacks so the kiddos don’t steal them.”

Alfyn tilted his head. “All that’s going to do is condition them to get better at stealing, I think.”

“Noo,” Therion said with a hint of a mischievous smile. “I’m sure it won’t.” Then he looked back on Ophilia with his usual skeptical gaze. “…Cordelia mentioned we might be able to stay in here for a few nights. Just checking if that is all right with you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ophilia answered him.

“That means I’m gonna be in here _all_ the time,” Therion clarified and gestured at the floorboards. “Because I’m _not_ going out into that horrid cold again unless I have to.”

“You didn’t have to come with me this far north in the first place,” Alfyn pointed out.

“I’d follow you to hell and back—which I _did_ ,” Therion glared. “And I’m not gonna back out now because of some stupid snow. Besides, who else is gonna take care of you if _you_ get the flu?”

Alfyn chuckled and put a hand to his chest. “A man after my own heart, you are.”

Therion flushed and shrugged. “Well, point is, I don’t wanna impose on you two or anything.”

“You absolutely do not,” Cordelia said. “The dark of winter can really drag on up here, so having two more people around to liven things up is nothing but fun. I would love for a chance to catch up with the two of you.”

There was more truth to that statement than Cordelia realized, but she also would not trade this place for the world.

“Sure,” Therion said. “And yeah, about that… Your letter mentioned getting our stories penned down. Won’t be necessary, though. You know mine already, anyway.”

“Pretty well,” Cordelia smiled at him. “But chronicling is about getting your _own_ words for your history. And if there is… anything from your time before we knew you that you would like to share, it would add depth.”

“That’s a _maybe_ ,” Therion said with narrow eyes, then nodded to Alfyn. “ _He_ can start, so I can make up my mind about it.”

Alfyn sipped on the rim of his mug, but looked up with wide eyes. “Wait, like right now?”

Cordelia gestured at the papers and quill at her desk. “I have the materials, at least.”

“Ah, shucks,” Alfyn chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m not the best at that sort of thing. And I dunno if there’ll be time—as soon word gets around about me being here, I might be gettin’ patients.”

“I will make sure to mention you before our churchgoers leave,” Ophilia promised. “Speaking of, I need to go back to sermon—there’s a new cleric doing her second reading from the holy texts, and they’ll get nervous if I’m gone too long. But I’ll be with you soon. There’s still enough flour to make pie out of some of our cowberries, so you will not be hungry.”

With a warm gaze on Cordelia, Ophilia was gone.

“She’s really in her element,” Therion said with an arced brow. “Not used to her calling the shots.”

“Well, I sure am grateful,” Alfyn smiled. “It’s nice to not have to knock on doors in this weather, honestly. Guess all I can do now is wait, huh?” He paused and glanced over at Cordelia, seemingly collecting his thoughts, before he put his mug down on the table with a determined nod.

“Alright, miss Cordelia, go get your papers an’ all! It might not be the prettiest tales, but I sure am gonna try to make ‘em comprehensible for ya.”

Cordelia leaned over to collect a bundle of papers and arranged her quill with an accustomed hand, and Alfyn lost some of his determined look.

“So, uh, do I start at like… when do I start?”

A drop of ink blotted the top of the page when Cordelia hovered over it. “I suppose many would start with your first memories, or of your childhood—”

“Dead dads and pestilence,” Alfyn said with a little twitch of his mouth. “Bit of a downer, I suppose, but I lived thanks to Kit’s dad, if you can believe it! After that, my life was just a lot of books and collecting things and trying out what they did. One time, me and my friend Zeph tried to fry a flamelily… went as well as you’d expect. I dunno—is this interesting at all?”

Cordelia nodded as encouragingly as she could. She could only imagine doing this herself—it was bound to feel awkward at first. Not everyone was like Tressa.

“I didn’t really get an exam or anythin’ fancy like that,” Alfyn continued and shrugged. “But we knew our stuff eventually, and we could call ourselves apothecaries. Me and Zeph, I mean. We managed to help a whole bunch. My ma got to live for longer than expected, so that’s somethin’. But we all die one day, and she did too… Shame she never got to see Therion. She would _love_ you, man. She’d try to braid your hair.”

“And I’d let her,” Therion answered. “Begrudgingly.”

Alfyn smiled, his eyes going a bit glossy. “I know, man. I know.”

Cordelia would have loved to continue this as something more like their usual conversations, but whenever she focused on her paper, it was more difficult to keep up speeches.

Alfyn leaned his arm on the table. “I don’t know…where was I? Not sure this is my thing, miss Cordelia.”

“You said you’d try,” Therion prompted him, gentler than Cordelia had ever heard him. “You could just hop to more recent things. Like when you hit the road.”

“Guess I could do that.”

“Just don’t skip out on your sheer lack of street smarts,” Therion added, less gently. “It’s hilarious. Every time.”

Alfyn grimaced. “Wasn’t _that_ bad, was it?”

“You already know what I’m gonna say, man.”

Alfyn brushed his chin. “The rest of the world was a bit… different from Clearbrook, it’s true.”

He leaned forwards with a little sigh. “So, I mentioned Kit’s dad, right? He was a traveling apothecary, and I grew up knowing I had to be one, too. Paying stuff forward, you know? I felt guilty about leaving my village and all that, so it took Zeph basically pushing me out the door for me to finally get out there. He said he wouldn’t be guilty of locking me down when all I wanted to travel… From there everything just kind of happened. I left the village, but it was only after running into Primrose that things started for real, you see—"

\---

Flamesgrace was surrounded by small streams. They stayed completely frozen over in winter, but once spring came, they flooded into small rivers. It was the same every year, Ophilia said, and Cordelia believed her.

Darkness lifted. The townspeople rejoiced over not having to melt snow on the stove to get water, and could just heat it up as it was. Late winter blooms still shone white, even as the snow turned to slush around them, and Cordelia loved every moment of daylight nature now was kind enough to grant them.

And with less snow, travelers were more commonplace.

Cordelia had yet to receive a written answer to any of her letters, but the others had answered their letters in person, so she supposed that was more to expect.

A man in familiar padded armor came walking briskly across the cobblestone path leading up to the cathedral, and once Cordelia spotted him in the window, she jogged out on the porch. Ophilia, noticing her hurry, followed her and stopped in the doorway.

Olberic lifted a hand in greeting. Behind him, a familiar scholar’s robe whipped in the wind, as Cyrus thoroughly looked over every house on the way, his brow deeply furrowed.

“You have a very pleasant home,” Olberic nodded in greeting as he ducked beneath the lintel to the Archbishop rooms.

“Thank you,” Ophilia said. “And welcome! You picked a very good time to visit. I do not have any pressing matters at the moment.”

Olberic smiled. Everything was suspiciously quiet, so Cordelia frowned and looked back into the hallway. “Hold on, Sir Olberic—it’s just you. Where did Professor Albright go?”

“Hm,” Olberic hummed and looked into the hallway as well. “Seems like I lost him somewhere. He has not been to Flamesgrace in springtime… He was very fascinated by how your architecture handles the drainage of melting snow… Maybe he got stuck by one of the cathedral drainpipes.”

“He’ll come around, I’m sure,” Ophilia smiled. “But please, tell us; how have you been?”

“All good, all good,” Olberic nodded. “I do not court anyone, nor does Cyrus—as he’s made clear. But he is fond of living in my cottage in Cobbleston for now, and I do quite enjoy having such a good man around. Cyrus gives the children a basic education, I man the guard, and we come home exhausted but content. Travelers assume we are married, but he does not object to that, so I don’t either. It does not matter to me, either way.”

“That sounds delightful.” Cordelia leaned her head in her hand. “I cannot believe it has soon been a year since I saw Cobbleston for the first time… How is young Philip?”

Olberic visibly brightened. “Growing so fast! I can hardly believe my eyes… And he’s become so skilled with the blade! Which leads to him not really listening to Cyrus’ lessons—alas, I try to tell him even a knight needs knowledge, but he’s a bit hard to win over on that end.”

“I would kindly disagree,” Cyrus said, in the same moment as he knocked on the doorframe. “Hello there. Excuse me for dropping eves, but young Philip has improved impeccably! It is all a matter of perspective. He no longer calls me boring or any similar rude remarks! I have taken to teaching the history of knights and other legacies of Hornburg, and it is of keep interest to all children. They deserve to know the legacy of the Highlands—if I may say, that is the true worth of history; passing on even lost cultures through generations! Of course I do some magical demonstrations as well, and thus far no one has set anything too valuable on fire. Teaching children is such fun, I truthfully never expected it to be so rewarding!”

“That’s lovely to hear, Professor Albright,” Cordelia smiled at him.

“Miss Cordelia, Miss Ophilia,” Cyrus greeted with a delicate bow, realizing he had not done so properly beforehand. “It is a true pleasure to see the two of you again.”

“How did you like the town in spring?” Ophilia asked him, barely concealing her smile.

“Why, it was absolutely stunning!” Cyrus exclaimed. “The ingenuity of your drainage system is masterful, I believe I shall have plenty more to teach the children of the village about how to tastefully integrate aqueducts into a city structure…”

“I’m sure they’ll find it riveting,” Olberic said with a troubled frown, not sounding too sure of himself.

“I’ll demonstrate with ice spells,” Cyrus assured him. “It is always better for the growing mind to see information in three dimensions! But I believe that is quite enough about us—ladies, how is this life treating you?”

Cordelia met Ophilia’s gaze.

The winter had been cold, but they had curled up beneath blankets together with mugs of hot water in their hands. Cordelia would sometimes stress over how her skin reacted to not being treated like a rich lady’s, but knowing her money had been distributed equally and was in circulation in Bolderfall’s slums was far better than rash-free palms. Being apart from Heathcote was strange and unfamiliar, but his letters had assured her that the effort to redistribute and build up Cliftlands’ low society homes was running smoothly under his watchful eye.

She was free. She had a home, and she loved it.

“I would not have it any other way,” Cordelia answered, and Ophilia nodded in agreement.

“Quite so. There is peace, which requires work, but I too am content.”

“Lovely to hear,” Cyrus nodded. “Now, I’m trying to cut to the heart of the matter—as wonderful it is to have an excuse to explore this wonderful city and pass by Atlasdam on the way, I believe you called us here for a reason, miss Ravus?”

“I am attempting chronicling, yes,” Cordelia answered. “If you would like to share your stories over dinner, I would be truly delighted.”

“Ah, now I believe that’s a splendid idea,” Cyrus said and took a gentle hold of Olberic’s shoulders. “You may begin, my friend. I tend to draw my stories overdue, so I have heard—best not to tire miss Ravus.”

“All right,” Olberic said and sat down, clasping his hands in his lap. Cordelia had barely had the time to understand that he was going to start immediately, and scrambled for paper and quill with embarrassing clumsiness, considering Cyrus was watching her.

“I was a knight of Hornburg,” Olberic begun. “To serve my king was all I ever wished, all the purpose I ever needed to swing my blade. When the civil war had begun to draw to an end, my brother in all but blood, Erhardt, guarded the king while I fought in a bloody battle. It was Erhardt who struck down my liege, and he left us with a ruined kingdom and a broken oath…”

Cordelia had not heard him speak anything so dramatically before, and focused her pen on quoting him word for word.

“I heard the name again, years after when I lived as a simple hedge knight. Erhardt was alive, and I intended to find him. I tracked him down, and he told me that he had been part of an assassin’s guild led by a man named Werner. Werner was alive, and had used his power and pillaged riches to rule the town of Riverford with an iron fist. So I assisted in a rebellion, and alongside my friends, I struck him down. And thus Riverford was free, and I moved back to Cobbleston with the purpose to protect the ones who live on the hills.”

He was quiet after that. Cordelia waited for him to continue or elaborate. He did not.

“…That is all?” she asked.

Olberic gave her a confounded gaze. “I believe so, yes. I do not have anything left to say. You were there for the rest, about Kit and Galdera.”

“I was,” Cordelia agreed, then looked down on what only accounted for half a page. “…But if there is anything that strikes you as important to add, please do. You can think about it, perhaps?”

Olberic nodded, still visibly confused, and looked up on Cyrus. “Go on, my friend. I believe you have quite a lot more to say.”

“Oh, not a _lot_ more,” Cyrus objected, but straightened as though he was about to sit in front of her as a professor during a lecture. “But if you insist, I could perhaps briefly summarize how fate’s fancy brought me here this day—you see, miss Ravus, you need a full understanding of the importance of the Atlasdam library and University, where tomes and records are kept safe throughout the centuries… And as I one day inquired about a particularly ancient and revered tome, I found that it had been _lost_ , and so I began my search—”

\---

The heat of the summer sun did not reach her in this corner of the cathedral, but its intensity was no less reflected on the bright spots of color from the stained-glass windows.

Cordelia put her stack of papers down on her desk. Dust motes danced in the light.

“An impressive pile.” Ophilia put her hands on Cordelia’s arms, leaning her head on her shoulder.

“Half of it is just Cyrus,” Cordelia said, and they both laughed.

“I’m sorry I missed sermon,” Cordelia continued. “The bed was just so soft… although cold when you were not there.”

“It’s what you get for staying up all night,” Ophilia playfully chided her. “But I suppose inspiration strikes when it strikes.”

“I will be there for prayer in the evening,” Cordelia promised. “But right now, I miss the sun. Do you want to go for a walk with me?”

“That sounds delightful. Let me get my gloves.”

The shadows were stretched along the ground from the spires of the cathedral, but the day was warm even though the hour was early. Flocks of people had assembled in clusters in the square outside after leaving sermon, chatting about anything significant and insignificant and everything in-between. The town was so different from its quiet winter setting, with sparking laughter and beaming sunlight.

There was so much beauty in this world. Cordelia was certain that now that her chronicle manuscript was nearing completion, she would find much more to bring to life on paper. There was just so much to see, to explore, to learn.

Cordelia closed her eyes and focused only on the warmth of the sun. Her thoughts drifted, but snapped back when a child shouted ‘ _dad, it’s a LEOPARD_ ’.

Everyone turned their heads at once. Including Cordelia and Ophilia.

The child had been right—like a very large dog, a snow leopard trotted after her master, with curious glances at the attention.

“Stayen calm,” H’aanit called, her palms open. “’Tis a beast moste tame!”

Primrose walked beside her, dressed as a huntress—not unlike the linen tunic Cordelia herself had worn when they ventured through the Darkwood. It suited her much better than it had Cordelia, which she noted not out of jealousy, but out of joy. By the looks of it, Primrose had found a way to belong, too.

“She’s the nicest apex predator you’ll ever meet,” Primrose called to the people on the square, mirroring H’aanit’s attempt to calm them.

The people in the square did not seem inclined to believe either of them, but when Ophilia walked down to meet them and scratched Linde between the ears, everyone relaxed. They did not exactly return to their previous conversations, but they did not stay tense, either.

Cordelia joined their side, and curtsied at them. It was still a habit.

“Oh, stop that,” Primrose chuckled. “Is that really how you greet an old friend?”

Cordelia looked up with a smile. “Depends on who you ask.”

“Well, I won’t be asking nobles, so no more courtesies, please.” Primrose tilted her head with a small smirk in the corner of her mouth.

“How nice it is to see you well,” Ophilia said. “How come you’re here?”

Primrose arced a brow. “You sent a letter, did you not?” She drew it out of her satchel, then knitted her forehead. “I know you sent it a year ago, Cordelia, and I am so sorry.”

“Mine Master received thine letter in our stead,” H’aanit explained. “I am moste ashamed to tell thee he hadden forgotten about it when we last meet in winter.”

“That does sound like him,“ Ophilia laughed quietly. “But nonetheless, there is no such thing as late for you.”

“’Tis an honor,” H’aanit nodded. “I thanke thee for thine welcome.”

“We were about to venture out into the woods—maybe you’d like to join us?” Cordelia suggested.

“That would be lovely,” Primrose said. “I’m still not a huge fan of cathedrals.”

The evergreens shone in the sun, and the lush blueberry thickets covered everything but the path as they walked. Occasionally, Linde would pop out from beneath the leaves, then dart away, free like the wild beast she was (H’aanit would call her tame to calm people, but really, just because Linde heeded her did not make her any less wild).

Neither Primrose nor H’aanit shared much about their past year. They answered ‘ _yes_ ’ to whether they had been travelling, and ‘ _everywhere the sun goes_ ’ as a response to _where_. They had shown up due to Cordelia’s letter, but that they would yield anything for the chronicles felt slightly hopeless.

And yet, after a half-hour walk, H’aanit leaned against a large mossy boulder to rest, watching the sky.

“Lady Cordelia,” she said with a clearing of her throat. “Thou wisheth to written our journeys down. ‘Tis not tradition to carry knowledge down in writings amongst my people, but I shallen happily provide thee, if thy wish. Mine beloved Primrose hast told me the same, is that not so?”

Primrose nodded. “I was going to say no at first,” she explained and leaned on the same boulder as H’aanit. “My life has been written down once, but it was done so in complete mockery. I do not trust poets and playwrights, but you… I believe I can let you know.” Primrose smiled humorlessly. “And if you do my story injustice, I could always stab you in the chest, like I did with the last man who tried.”

“Oh,” Cordelia said, feeling the blood drain from her face.

“Primrose,” Ophilia chided. “Do not say such things, even in jest.”

The smile died away on Primrose’s achingly beautiful face, and something in her gaze died, too.

“No,” she said. “You are right. I’m sorry, Cordelia.”

Cordelia only nodded. In the presence of these two, she somehow still felt small and insignificant. She had never had an intimidating aura even close to theirs; but that was also why she found their stories so enticing. They were the ones with the most holes in them, and if either of them offered anything at all, Cordelia would not say no.

“I would love to hear anything you wish to share,” she answered. “Shall we turn back?”

H’aanit looked at her in surprise. “Prithee, why? The woods aren fine this time of year.”

“I mean, my papers and my quill—” Cordelia began, but she also felt like she would not get another chance like this. Primrose had already hopped up on the boulder and crossed her legs, ready to speak. Cordelia would rather hear it once and not remember everything perfectly, than never being given the chance.

She put her hand on Ophilia’s arm, finding support in her presence, and they sat themselves down in the soft grass.

“All right,” she said. “Primrose, would you… be the first?”

She got a short nod in response. Primrose bent her head with serene agony, the contrast like something painters could struggle all their lives to perfect, but never would.

“It begins just like life always does,” she said. “With birth, and with hope.”

And so Primrose angled her face toward the sky, and told her story.

\---

Autumn passed them by again. Cordelia ventured to Bolderfall, Ophilia at her side, and she saw it flourish. Roofs and fences were new, there were different aqueducts for wastewater and fresh water, an apothecary seemed to have taken up residence, and grapes grew along the mountain walls, supported and cared for. The old Ravus manor was filled to the brim with people, and children played in the gardens Cordelia had grown up in herself.

She got to embrace Heathcote again. A butler no longer, yet he still insisted he would take time off his duty as headmaster to cook a meal or two for Cordelia. She would not deny him that. She would be happy to see him, and she was sure to let him know.

At their return to Flamesgrace, the frost already covered the ground, and the snow came soon after.

With the blanket of darkness over them once again, Cordelia sat by her desk most of the time. Olberic had sent her some letters that added more detail to his retellings, for which she was grateful, but it was enough to keep her busy, anyhow. She had the rough drafts down, now she needed to place everything in order, to note down where the stories intersected, and filter some of the tangents.

Other letters reached her, too. Mostly Noa’s, telling her of her journeys across the world, but she got one from Therion as well. A simple envelope and not many fancy words, but she still smiled ear to ear.

_Getting married. Told you I would. Gotta give you a fun open end to your book, right? Anyway. Riverlands in summer. No dress code. Bring Ophilia. See you there._

_-Therion._

Summer seemed so far away, but before the hearth of her home, her heart was warmed by the memory of sunlight. She folded the letter, glanced out through the dark windows, and sat back down.

The walls vibrated with the chime of bells, but Cordelia did not look up. Not even when the door opened behind her (although she did glance behind her and answer the short peck on her lips), and she did not move, and she lost track of time.

When she awoke, she was alone, but that was not too uncommon. She knew she should get up and perhaps go outside, greet those who were there for the saturday sermon, but instead she brought her blankets with her and sat back down by her desk, let time disappear once again.

The soft petals of winter thrummed against the stained glass, and by the time it settled down, Ophilia had returned, her archbishop robes hung by the door.

“It’s so close to completion,” Ophilia said, leaning her head on Cordelia’s shoulder.

“At least the draft is,” Cordelia said and put her hand on Ophilia’s cheek. “Thank you for your patience with me.”

“You have been nothing but a delight,” Ophilia answered and leaned into her hand.

The papers before her was an impressive pile, now. With the drafts and notes of seven travellers and Cordelia’s own short addition of her own life and journey, the pile was as high as her lower arm.

She was far from done, but her mind still drifted to what her next projects could be. Perhaps she could ask Heathcote—his life had been an extraordinary and exciting one, from thief to butler to headmaster. And once _that_ was done, there had to be hundreds more with their stories never told that she could immortalize on ink and paper. She did not want to stop writing, not yet. What had started as letters written to make sense of her thoughts had become an unstoppable force within her now that she had realized just how much joy she found in between pages. The joy of pursuing her dreams, living her life with one she loved.

She turned to look at Ophilia. “Will you still help me complete it?”

“Of course I will.”

“Do you have some time to spare now?” Cordelia offered and pulled her chair back. “I am in quite a streak.”

“I have my duties at noon,” Ophilia said and sat down. “It _is_ Saturday, after all. How long do you need me for?”

“Only you know,” Cordelia smiled and took her hand. “It’s _your_ story I need.”

Ophilia inhaled in a quiet gasp, then she laughed. “You do! Oh, how silly, I had not thought about it. I thought you knew enough to write it down without my input.”

“I know a lot.” More than she knew herself, in a way. “And perhaps I could draft everything only from what I know of you, but small talk rarely begins at the beginning and end at the end. Not that there’s an end to your story yet, but you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Ophilia smiled. “But if this would be how it ended, I would consider it a happy one.”

Cordelia could not answer that, she felt tears press at the base of her throat.

“Although I hope there is still time for us yet to adopt children of our own, one day.”

It was a future they discussed all the more often in later weeks, and the thought always brought her warmth.

“There is,” Cordelia said, her voice thick. “Thanks to you… there is time. For everyone.”

Ophilia still smiled her gentle smile, squeezing her hand. “It is a while until noon, yet. Do you want me to begin?”

Cordelia nodded, preparing her quill.

“All right then,” Ophilia said, scraping her chair closer to Cordelia’s, leaning in close. “I think… I think I’ll begin with a girl who had never in her life seen snow… Who was saved by kindness, and by the bright light of Aelfric’s flame…”

Winter darkness lay heavy over the city of Flamesgrace, but with lanterns and candles and fire all combined like separate stars, it was bright enough. And although the light within Cordelia did not shine outward, she felt it.

Her heart was aflame, and she… belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thus ends yet another solfic that was not meant to be a longfic, but i had a lot of fun exploring and giving space to a lot fo my other favorite octopath ships and indulging in the extremely excellent worldbuilding of that game. Thank you for reading <3


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